


Drowning Souls

by almanera4, Tarpeia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: grindeldore, M/M, POV Albus Dumbledore, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almanera4/pseuds/almanera4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarpeia/pseuds/Tarpeia
Summary: Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.





	1. I

— Hast du mir weiter nichts zu sagen?  
— Nein Herr! ich find es dort, wie immer, herzlich schlecht.  
Die Menschen dauern mich in ihren Jammertagen,  
Ich mag sogar die armen selbst nicht plagen.

 _Faust: Der Tragödie erster Teil_ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe  
Conversation of the Lord and Mephistopheles 

 

_June 13th, 1899_

The weather was fairly warm. There was wind, an uncommonly piercing one for June, but otherwise, summer had truly started. Albus, however, remained oblivious to this shift. His gaze was glued to the ground. There used to be a flower bed at that spot; there still was one, except nothing had grown that year. The winter had been mild, but in March, there had been a series of unexpected blizzards, which had frozen the crops that had already started growing. The plants were dead. Just like Kendra Dumbledore, his mother.

When he had first heard the news, he had refused to believe it. Kendra Dumbledore had been nothing if not resilient and inflexible. Once set upon a decision, she would not budge no matter the discomfort it might entail for herself and her family. This trait had brought them a great deal of suffering, yet it had also testified to her inner strength. Her untimely death was unfathomable, as though a mere illusion designed to disrupt his plans, which—and the thought was mortifying—would not have been the first time. Despite being a talented and studious witch, she had never encouraged Albus's success. Perhaps it had been the fact that after her husband's imprisonment, she had found herself confined to the house, forced to care for Ariana and to perform the chores in the Muggle fashion to avoid spooking the frail girl. Perhaps it had been her frustration at seeing her own scholarly ambitions thwarted while he, Albus, had received all of his father's support. The truth remained that Kendra had become cold towards her firstborn, colder than a stranger. It was unspeakably selfish of him, but now that she had died, Albus could have sworn she had intended to foil him all along. All he had wanted was to spend one summer travelling with his friend Doge, only one; afterwards, he would find himself a situation and support his family. Everything had been ready: the money his father had set aside for the tour, the detailed plan, the research. And just when he had passed his exams, studying for many sleepless nights to make everyone who had believed in him proud, this had occurred instead. Well, he knew the reason why: because life was unjust.

On top of this, he was also being compelled to endure the false condolences of the villagers. And how he hated those! If there was one thing he could not stand, it was hypocrisy; and here were the people who had always gossiped and spread nasty rumours about his mother, though the moment she had died, they had suddenly started pretending they had been her closest companions. Sadly, her own frame of mind had not helped. Far from accepting assistance or even friendship, she had embraced the solitude that she loathed as if it had been a Shield Charm, refusing to make her neighbours' acquaintance, to attend events, to greet passers-by or to follow the most fundamental courtesies. It was almost a wonder that the members of Godric's Hollow had found it in themselves to like Albus, to his family's disapproval. This double frustration caused Albus to want to scream, or Curse someone, or both.

Aberforth had remained in the graveyard, even though the ceremony was over and the attendants had dispersed. Albus had not seen him cry in years, and he knew that once they returned home, he would not glimpse that sight again. Partly, it was for Ariana's sake, for their sister became upset at the smallest altercation. Partly, however, it was their mother's influence in him. Out of her three children, Kendra had been kindest to Aberforth, and from his side, he had been devoted to her to the point of sacrificing his other interests, be it his studies or his friends. And along with the hostile manners and the many chores he had inherited from her, he was also carrying a passionate prejudice towards Albus. Never did Aberforth lose an opportunity to remind his brother that all their misfortunes were somehow his fault, either because he, Albus, was never around, or because he happened to be busy with his studies, or because he could not be bothered to think of their family. As far as Aberforth was concerned, it had always been _Albus, Albus, Albus_. It was simply too much.

His feelings were more conflicted when it came to the witch who lived in the house just across their own: Bathilda Bagshot. Known across the village as the greatest of gossipers, she appeared to be responsible for spreading the false rumour of Ariana being a Squib before they could have corrected her. Yet she possessed an undeniable kind side: she had been the one to send his paper to the scholarly journal, _Transfiguration Today_ , and she had always encouraged him to develop his talents. It only made it worse when trying to reconcile the different emotions that were tearing him apart. He did not need any more complexity in his life, and at this instant, there was so much complexity to be going on with that—

But she appeared to be speaking to someone: two foreign-looking boys. Albus could clearly see one of them, the shorter one. The boy was of an average frame with sandy blond hair and a fair complexion. He was dressed in a Muggle sailor suit. In truth, there was nothing particularly special about him, and for a moment, Albus was quite puzzled at his own reaction to this stranger. But then he looked closely and understood.

The way the foreign boy was dressed was impeccable. Had Albus seen him somewhere else, he would have taken him for a Muggle. His sailor suit and hat were decorated with the stripes typical of the fabrics from Imperial Germany; even his hair had been cropped to match the style. Albus had learned as much as he could about Muggle history to recognize these details. He and Doge had thought it best not to take chances in exposing the wizarding world, not even involuntarily so, though Albus had always secretly wished he could dress in the most outrageous shades of purple and sparkling yellow and Charm his outfit to emit a red glow, simply to irk close-minded people. Either way, it was for the purpose of their trip that he and Doge had gone through all the available books on Muggles and their mannerisms. And this boy, whoever he was, seemed to be quite knowledgeable as well. What was he doing here? Albus was certain he had never seen him before, or he would have remembered.

Curiosity won over; carefully, Albus moved closer, gauging whether he could eavesdrop on the conversation. They were not speaking English, but from his new position, Albus could tell that the foreign boy was feeling nervous and out of place. Nobody, however, was paying him much attention. Madam Bagshot was speaking to the other boy.

That one was taller and of an athletic built, dressed like a wealthy gentleman. He too was blond, but Albus could not see his face; he could only sense that the conversation was not a pleasant one. The witch looked cautious, perhaps even disappointed, while the tall boy's shoulders seemed tense. At last, the group reached something of an agreement as Madam Bagshot sighed and nodded, and the tall boy motioned for the shorter one to come closer. A brief introduction followed between the witch and the boy in the sailor suit, the two of them having manifestly never met, even though they were both familiar with the tall boy. Interesting.

For some reason, Albus felt a powerful urge to follow them. The funeral was over, his brother needed a moment alone, and Ariana was home, resting under the influence of Dreamless Sleep: the only way they could have left her alone for long enough to proceed with the ceremony. Quietly, he stole along the hedge, keeping his distance, hoping to stay unnoticed. Not a minute later, the tall boy turned around, as if sensing he was being watched. It was then that Albus first saw him: Gellert Grindelwald. 

His gaze was alight with an inner vivacity one but rarely encountered in the others. His eyes were, in fact, so unlike the dull and deceitful eyes of the crones Albus had come to despise that he found himself taken aback. Nearly at once, the shorter boy turned around as well, and Madam Bagshot followed suit. Albus halted, suddenly feeling foolish in his impulsive pursuit and all too aware of his mourning clothes.

"Young Mr Dumbledore!" Bathilda called.

He was now obliged to approach them whether he wished to or not. He touched his hat.

"Madam Bagshot."

She took in his attire with an air of pity. "Ah, I see. I regret having missed the funeral, my dear boy. Had it not been for my family engagement, I would not have failed to pay my last respects to your excellent mother. A fine woman as ever I've met, upon my word. Such a tragedy! Please, once again, accept my sincere condolences."

"Thank you." His voice was clipped; this was the only time when his curtness could be interpreted as grief rather than rudeness. "I will pass your kind words onto my family. Please don't distress yourself on my account; I dare hope your family members enjoy their stay in Godric's Hollow."

This finally redirected her attention towards the tall boy in the gentleman's suit.

"Ah, yes. May I present my great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald? Gellert, dear, this is Albus Dumbledore."

Albus offered him his hand with a polite _Pleased to meet you_ , wondering why Madam Bagshot was paying so little attention to the other boy.

"I am sorry we are forced to meet under such circumstances; please accept our condolences," the young man replied, keeping it short as if sensing Albus was in no mood for speeches.

"This is Dieter Heiderfeld," he then said, gesturing towards his companion. "Dieter attends Durmstrang with me; we've come to spend the summer holidays at Aunt Bathilda's. Dieter's English is not very good yet, I'm afraid, and spending this summer in England is a wonderful opportunity to practice."

At this, the other boy joined him in greeting Albus, who studied the new arrivals with some puzzlement. He had been unaware of Madam Bagshot's family connections. As far as everyone knew, she was a solitary spinster, though rich in acquaintances and with an entire network of connections under her belt. She often declared herself married to History, which was why no one ever called her Miss Bagshot.

By all accounts, Mr Grindelwald was not a year older than Albus himself, yet something about his confidence felt quite out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was his consideration—of which he possessed rather more than his inquisitive great-aunt, as his brief and polite answer had indicated.

It was not long before Madam Bagshot claimed attention once more.

"I was hoping to see young master Doge with you," she started, her eyes darting across the street. "I know how much he cherishes history, and I have found just the thing for him."

Albus suppressed a sigh, knowing perfectly well the witch was mining for information.

"I'm afraid he has left for the continent, but he will be back before long. I will be writing to him one of these days, and I'll tell him of your kindness."

He turned towards the boy named Dieter, for whom he could not help but feel sympathy. Being ignored by his hostess minutes after their introduction could not be a reassuring start.

"Is this your first visit to England, Mr Heiderfeld?"

"Yes," the boy replied promptly. "Sehr… eet eez lovely here. Zank you."

"I am sure we will see more of each other, Mr Dumbledore," Gellert Grindelwald smoothly intervened. "Besides, Dieter will be delighted to get more opportunities for conversation. What do you think, Aunt Bathilda?"

"A splendid idea!" Madam Bagshot simpered. "Would you do us the honour tomorrow, my dear boy? It's nothing fancy, only a quiet family dinner. Of course, your dear brother and sister would be most welcome to attend. I know how much responsibility rests on your shoulders, and I wouldn't presume to intrude. A lady's company, however, is hardy suitable for two bright young men, and there is no one in Godric's Hollow whom I could recommend to them more highly than you. I promise you will not regret befriending my nephew."

The matter was delicate, and Albus felt slightly winded at the turn of these events. He was in deep mourning and bound by the etiquette to avoid entertainment for at least the next few months. Yet the prospect of spending his days in the tense atmosphere of his home, near his brother's resentment and his sister's unpredictable fragility, caused him to reconsider. Was one dinner such an offense after all?

Lost in contemplation, he looked into Gellert's eyes. Two young witches dressed in colourful shawls and flowered bonnets passed them on the pavement, their expressions undeniably appreciative as they glanced in the direction of the handsome foreign wizard.

Albus made his decision.

 

 **Foreword:** The tale of tragic love of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald is often denied the opportunity to be told in its full glory, which is why the authors of this story have made it their goal to do so.

The idea itself occurred to me a long time ago, but it felt as though it was never quite the time to write it before now, and it is, in fact, Tarpeia's merit that the story is being continued after all.

That being said, please keep an open mind when reading this story. Since the events take place in the Victorian era, many beliefs and mannerisms dominating the wizarding world reflect those dominant in Muggle world of the time. It is also important to mention that this story openly deals with romance between two young men—keep this in mind if you are easily offended or if you fundamentally disagree with the claims of Albus Dumbledore being romantically interested in the Durmstrang wizard who would later become notoriously known. It would be best to take this story as an independent novella set in the wizarding Victorian England and enjoy it for what it is—a forbidden love story.

On that note: happy reading!


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

It was in a state of physical soreness that Albus advanced towards Bathilda Bagshot's house the following evening. He was exhausted after a full day of Muggle chores, which had been neglected since his mother had died. Being forbidden from using magic was nothing short of frustrating. He loved magic, every discipline of it, and he had reached the point of mastery where his wand felt more like an extension of his hand than a separate object. It was appalling to think that a single day had been enough to break his goodwill and reduce him to the state of hatred for household tasks. Especially when Aberforth had adapted to their new routine without a word of complaint. 

His flush, caused by their latest argument, had not yet subsided. His brother had categorically refused to attend that night’s dinner, let alone take Ariana out to socialise with a _vain gossiper and her flashy relative_. The world had always been black and white to Aberforth, and there were times when Albus envied his simplistic certainty. Wherever he looked, nothing was remotely simple. He himself did not always enjoy Madam Bagshot's company, but he had to concede she was well-connected and, perhaps, in a position to help them out. For a solution to their difficulty had come to his mind: obtaining a house-elf. They could not manage on their own for long. 

Hiding his sombre sentiments under an expression of demure and courteous grief, Albus walked through the protective wards of the garden and knocked on the front door. It swung open to reveal Bathilda in her dinner dress, her features firmly set in a look of compassion. 

"Albus, my dear boy." 

With a kiss on her hand, he proceeded into the parlour, where his eyes were drawn at once to the figure of Gellert, who was perusing one of his aunt's own publications. 

"Good evening," Albus said. 

Gellert smiled. "Good evening, Mr Dumbledore." 

They shook hands, and Albus glanced around for the other German boy, Dieter, who was looking out of the window. Exchanging a greeting, Albus decided to engage him in conversation, especially as Gellert appeared to be absorbed in his book. 

"Where do you come from?" he inquired. 

But Dieter had barely drawn a breath to answer when Bathilda hurried over with a tray of glasses full of claret, as if determined Albus should waste as little of his time as possible on this boy, who was no relative of hers.

"Some old wine a good friend gave me last spring," she announced. 

They drank. Now Albus was feeling distinctly uncomfortable on Dieter’s behalf. He decided to steer her attention in a different direction. 

"My brother has asked me to apologise, Madam Bagshot. He couldn't come tonight. He sends you his fondest regards, and so does my sister."

Bathilda laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I understand. I do hope to see them sometime, my boy. You can't know how fond I am of all of you, and yet, it goes back one decade. Ah, how well I remember: one morning, your mother appeared in the house across mine, as if she'd lived there forever. Her dress was simple, quiet dignity her only ornament, but she bore herself like a queen—she had no need for jewels when her personality shone through, proud and strong like a man's." Bathilda took a gulp, her eyes uncharacteristically reminiscent. "Would you believe it, she actually shut the door in my face the first time I came to welcome her into the village. Nor was I the only one. Everyone knew her from a distance, talked about her, but was not admitted anywhere close. It took time for us to understand and accept her for who she was. Ah, a fine woman; there aren't many of them left any more."

He had heard similar speeches from the other villagers in the last days, but at this moment, a mere day after the funeral and only half an hour after another emotional row with his brother, listening to a new litany was difficult. Albus took a sip, hoping his silence would not be interpreted as impertinence. 

"Aunt Bathilda," Gellert spoke up suddenly, "I think we are overwhelming Mr Dumbledore. He is just too polite to say so." 

It was true, and to Albus’s surprise, Madam Bagshot seemed to realise her mistake as soon as Gellert had voiced it. 

"Oh, but of course! Forgive me, my boy, of course, you must be hearing this all the time… Now, being two fine gentlemen that you are, you must be curious about each other. I haven't had the chance to properly introduce my great-nephew, have I now?"

The atmosphere noticeably relaxed at this, so that even Dieter smiled. Albus could tell that Gellert possessed the ability to assess the situation and cut all formalities short whenever people needed to feel more at ease. Madam Bagshot became positively perky at the prospect of presenting her handsome relative.

"Now, can I proudly announce that Gellert here has the honour of being one of the brightest students who have ever attended Durmstrang? And they don't admit just anyone."

"I was lucky enough to make the acquaintance of several bright minds," Gellert protested modestly, looking over at his friend.

The latter did not shy away from the compliment, though his smile was devoid of arrogance. If anything, Albus fully believed him to be a thorough and serious student. It was unusual for a wizard to be able to pass for a Muggle this flawlessly, and on the day of his arrival, Dieter had been dressed as a prim and proper Muggle. 

They went to table, the boys now more favourably disposed towards each other. Gellert broke the silence first. 

"Dieter here is a great admirer of Goethe despite the latter’s Muggle origin—very scandalous, as far as Auntie is concerned."

"Now, now, I am first and foremost a historian, my boy," Madam Bagshot disagreed, "I fully acknowledge great minds, be they wizards or Muggles. The fact remains that the man's ideas—great as they were—were dangerous in their own right."

His interest roused, Albus considered the two German wizards, lowering his already forgotten drink. 

"Truly? I had the great pleasure of reading Faustus—sadly, using an English translation, albeit an excellent one. I can only imagine the beauty of the verses in their original language. In fact, I deeply appreciate Schiller's plays. It’s debatable, of course, but I feel there is nothing quite like the atmosphere of theatre. What about yourself, Mr Grindelwald? Do you have a preference?"

"Both thinkers deserve our respect," Gellert replied readily. "I feel their greatest works come from later in their lives when they worked together. Unlike many in their position, they weren't focused on a single discipline, you see—they dabbled in history, politics, science, literature. This combined knowledge allowed them to gain a full picture, and by joining their wits, they created what perhaps solitude could never have achieved. It is often the collaboration of talent and friendship that produces true gems."

It was a very different answer from the one Albus had expected, and he contemplated the idea for a few seconds, half-wondering if he had imagined the elusive complicity in the other boy's words. 

His eyes narrowed, not in a hostile manner but in attention, as if trying to glimpse all the way to the bottom of that extraordinary person. 

“I quite agree." He paused. "Forgive my curiosity, but could it be you were born in England? Only, your manner of speaking is more elegant than that of most Englishmen."

Gellert flashed him a truly appreciative if modest smile.

"Oh, no, I wasn’t; but thank you, Mr Dumbledore. My father was of English descent, so I grew up speaking the language."

"He was my nephew," Madam Bagshot chimed in, bringing a meat pie to the table. "My dear late nephew, was he a talented young man! And Gellert here was his pride and joy—an equally skilled wizard, one of the best in Durmstrang. It's all in the blood, like they say."

Albus gave her a polite nod, as if to agree, but was rather impatient to hear more of Gellert's story. "So you come from Germany, is that right? Or perhaps Austria?"

Gellert looked a little apologetic on behalf of his great-aunt, though he quickly took over the reins of the conversation to satisfy Albus's curiosity.

"What on earth gave me away? Not my horrid accent, I hope?" he exclaimed. "But very well guessed, Mr Dumbledore; my mother was from South Bavaria—very close to Austria—though I myself partly grew up in Hanover. Dieter here is from a rather Northern part of the Empire, where they speak Low German. Needless to say, I need to be led by hand wherever I happen to come for a visit."

Dieter nodded in confirmation. Against his will, Albus found himself grinning at Gellert's self-deprecating humour. He was now burning to ask more questions yet was afraid of giving too enthusiastic an impression, both because the other, quieter German boy was not receiving as much attention and because he was not _supposed_ to be enjoying himself while in deep mourning. After acknowledging the answer with a smile, he took a bite of the meat pie, his mind more excited than it had been since the exams. 

"I hear you are rather fond of Transfiguration, Mr Dumbledore?" Gellert asked in turn. 

"Fond?" Bathilda interrupted. "Ah, dear Albus is the most brilliant student to have attended Hogwarts in decades! Now, I was sceptical at first when he approached me for help on getting his paper published, but when I took a closer look, I was impressed. All the more so, considering how… Ah, my dear boy, you truly are uncommonly gifted."

Caught in the process of sipping water, Albus fought the impulse to hide behind his goblet, his face the colour of a tomato. It was pleasant to hear Madam Bagshot praise him, truly, but for some reason, the compliment made him feel more insecure. Not only had she practically discredited the rest of his family; he also felt as though such trivial achievements weighed nothing next to Gellert's type of brilliance. Grades and trophies were a trifle when in competition with an agile mind and charisma. 

"You are too kind, Madam Bagshot," he uttered. 

"Vot eez 'Ogwarts like?" Dieter asked, coming promptly to Albus's rescue. His friend looked equally interested in the matter.

Albus mentally reproached himself for not having paid the timid boy more attention from the start. 

"It's a very beautiful castle in the mountains, overseeing a lake," he started; and indeed, the fond reminiscence washed away his embarrassment in a wink. "It was founded in 11th century by the four greatest British witches and wizards. They established a House system that bears their names and is maintained to this day. Due to its age and history, the castle has many different manifestations of magic: ghosts, animated armours, moving staircases, even a Poltergeist. Our Headmaster, professor Dippet, has been at his post for over two hundred years."

Madam Bagshot made a sound of disdain, though her mouth was too full to allow her to speak. 

"Durmstrang was founded two centuries later by a rather extraordinary Bulgarian witch," Gellert returned, smiling. "The castle itself may not look impressive at first glance since most of it is hidden in the mountains, but the sheer extent of the place, the crystal-clear, ice-blue lake, the endless stars in the night sky and the aurora borealis reflected in the waters… All of it is breathtaking, to say the least."

His companion nodded enthusiastically at these words.

"Eet eez ze second ‘ome to us."

"You must forgive us, Mr Dumbledore; I suppose it is natural for us to be rather fond of our respective schools," Gellert commented hastily upon noticing that Albus had stopped eating at the sound of this slightly melancholic reminiscence. "That being said, I do wish our schools—as well as the wizarding society in general—paid more attention to magical cooperation. I’d say it is rather neglected at the moment, wouldn’t you agree?"

"I certainly would," Albus replied seriously, his food forgotten for the second time. "It's been centuries since the Triwizard Tournament was organised, and even though the reason behind its cancellation is understandable, it’s a pity we cannot have more exchanges between schools or encourage all the students to seek penfriends. They say it is important to guard a school's secrets, but truth be told, how can one steal a secret? The schools have been there for centuries, and they will remain so. Each of them has its own magic. For my part, I would have found it fascinating to visit Durmstrang and attend a few lessons that aren’t taught at Hogwarts. Knowledge is expanded by challenging ourselves, not remaining rooted in our old ways."

"Not to mention the mutual benefits both parties would receive," Gellert agreed. "Imagine how much time we could spare if we could simply learn something that has already been invented somewhere else, rather than try to come up with a weaker solution on our own. Secrecy, on the other hand—no matter which way I look at it—ends up being more harmful than beneficial. When there is no reliable knowledge exchange, it often leads to an atmosphere of fear and mistrust, which, in turn, rarely results in anything good."

"Now, now, boys," Bathilda protested, "you are young and—forgive me for saying so—rather idealistic. The Statute of Secrecy was put in place for our own protection, and by much older and wiser wizards than yourselves. And don't you give me that look, Gellert; I am far more knowledgeable than a boy freshly out of school. It’s all due to too much dangerous literature, upon my word..."

She then muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like _Goethe_ , as if to mock the boys even further. 

It punctured their momentum like a balloon. A little disappointed, Albus seized his cutlery to finish his piece of pie. He thought of Ariana and of the way his parents had lied to the authorities about her condition, knowing she would otherwise be taken from them and secluded in St. Mungo's as a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. He thought of the way his father had been sent to Azkaban while the Muggle boys who had tormented little Ariana had been healed and Obliviated to walk away unpunished. 

"It's an excellent pie, Madam Bagshot," he remarked politely. 

This seemed to put her back in her good spirits. "You're welcome, my dear boy. Ah, you need to be careful to eat well, now that the circumstances... have changed. Learning to make a few dishes can save your life, even if you do have a preference for academia. I dare say you will love the pudding. My raisin pound cake—let me fetch it."

She walked out into the kitchen, and Albus caught sight of Gellert's expression, which appeared to be slightly concerned. He answered with a minute shake of his head and a smile to indicate everything was all right. 

"To be perfectly honest, I agree with you," he whispered before Madam Bagshot came back in with a new tray. 

"Zo your favourite lesson eez Transfiguration, or?" Dieter asked to resume the general conversation.

"It is," Albus nodded. He had to marvel at the boy’s tactful, unassuming demeanour. "I like Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. Every discipline is unique, to be fair. What is your favourite?"

"History of Magic," Dieter admitted. "Zere eez not much to do wiz a wand, yes, but ze debates and discussions are very interesting."

"Mine is choir practice," Gellert affirmed lightly. 

Bathilda rolled her eyes.

"Now honestly, Gellert—singing with witches—Albus here won't take you seriously any more. Choir practice, Merlin's beard; thank goodness we are in a small company. Keep that up, and the whole village will turn you into a laughing stock."

Gellert only shrugged and smiled at Albus in a conspiratorial manner, as if it had been his intention all along to annoy Madam Bagshot.

"Wizards are in the choir too, Auntie," he said innocently.

Dieter was now laughing as well. It had worked like a charm, and despite himself, Albus joined in. 

"Is it true? I do love music, very much so. Is there... uh, is there any chance you would sing something for us?" 

It was half a joke, for only ladies ever sang at dinners, and that exclusively when wanting to impress their suitors. He was genuinely curious, though. And to his amazement, Gellert met the suggestion with a grin. 

“Why, certainly. Can we, Auntie?”

She grimaced. “If Albus insists… only for his sake, so be it. You know how to use a clavichord, do you not?”

And a moment later, she and Albus were seated in armchairs while Gellert positioned himself at the old instrument Madam Bagshot appeared to have inherited from her ancestors. Had it not been for magic, it would have been long out of tune. The two German boys proceeded to sing _Lux Praecantationis_ , an energetic and yet transcendent ballad that thoroughly enchanted Albus. He himself had never attended the choir lessons at Hogwarts, not due to shyness but because there simply had been no time left, what with his Head Boy duties and the extra lessons he had been taking. 

He found himself observing Gellert’s straight posture, his relaxed gestures, the small flame of enthusiasm in his eyes while he sang, as well as the graceful manner in which his hands moved over the keys. It felt like a trance of sorts with Albus’s sight and hearing becoming one. He did not even realise it until the music died down and Madam Bagshot’s voice rang out feet away from his ear. 

“But you are tired, Albus dear. Just look at you. I shouldn’t have kept you this late. Off with you, my boy, you need bed rest. You’ve been through a lot already.”

Jolting from what felt like a daydream, Albus looked up, a little languid and pink in the face but more comfortable than he had felt in a while. 

“I’m all right, Madam Bagshot. I only meant to—”

“You need rest. Come now, my boy; Gellert isn’t going anywhere for the whole summer, so you will have plenty of opportunities to converse. I trust you to talk some sense into him. Some English manners wouldn’t go amiss either, Merlin knows.”

And rather more quickly than expected, Albus was escorted to the door, having only fleetingly wished the boys a good night. For a second, it had seemed as though Dieter had given him a penetrating look. 

As he crossed over to his house, he reflected what an enjoyable affair that night’s dinner had been, even with Bathilda Bagshot’s rants. Gellert was quite unlike any other young man he had met so far: he had an answer ready to any question, and all his thoughts were invariably unique, well thought-out and articulated with utmost eloquence. Indeed, it occurred to Albus that Gellert would have been able to make an unendurable demand sound easy and inviting if his attention came as a reward. This was not an easy talent to handle. Besides, the boy held a palpable sway over Madam Bagshot, who became somewhat more cultured and polite in his presence. As for Dieter, what Albus had initially taken for meekness had proven to be delicate manners and an impressive amount of consideration. There was warmth to that young German, and pure decency. 

His hat floated towards the coat stand when Albus entered the hall. Now that he was back in the tense family home, he was certain he would receive an earful for having enjoyed a delicious dinner in an erudite company while his sister was confined to the house and his brother was up to his neck in chores. 

This certitude all but intensified at the sight of Aberforth kindling fire with his wand in the sitting room, his face set in an ominous scowl. They had parted badly before dinner after all. 

“How is Ari?” Albus asked softly. 

Aberforth stared back at him. It was plain he had been considering pursuing their argument—he was not a person to let go of resentment easily—but in the end, he must have reconsidered, for his voice betrayed but a spark of anger. 

"Don't wake her up," he said. "It's been an ordeal for her." After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. "I told Ari the _Shadow_ will not be coming back to hurt us—that we will protect her." He met Albus’s gaze. "It means we _must_ protect her, do you understand?"

Albus let himself slide into an armchair, a sigh ready to escape his chest. It had now been nearly eight years since Ariana's magic, repressed by her fear and trauma, had morphed into an Obscurus, the parasitic force that threatened to lash out at the slightest provocation. But it had been getting worse in the last years. For all of Kendra’s strong will, she had possessed a short and impatient temper, and one of her tantrums was what had caused this repressed magical force to go on a rampage, Albus was certain of it. Fortunately, Ariana did not remember causing her mother’s death, for the fit had knocked her out. Yet on some level, she appeared to understand what had happened. Perhaps it was for the purpose of coping with this knowledge that her fear of her parasitic twin had conjured the notion of this disconnected _Shadow_. 

"We _are_ protecting her," Albus said. 

He had no idea what they were going to do. None at all.

"You have to stay in the house from now on,” Aberforth declared. “No more dinners with the gossiper and her flashy relatives. A few chores won't kill you; it’s not like you can’t cook yourself."

Albus arched an eyebrow; he could not help it. If Aberforth ever happened to be in a position to lead, he would face rebellions left and right, provoked for no other reason but to spite him. 

"How do you imagine our future?" he asked wearily. "The three of us never leaving the house for the rest of our lives?"

Aberforth glared at him. "You really don't care, do you?"

"I do care," Albus retorted. "And I know you do as well, Aberforth, but—and I'm sorry to say so—you reason like a child. What you propose is impossible for many reasons. One of which is that you have to go back to school in September. I will not have you drop out."

“You can’t give me orders,” his brother objected, firing up at once. “If you can’t be bothered to protect Ari, I will do it.”

He turned on his heels and ascended the stairs at a run. 

“I’m the head of the family now,” Albus called after him, his tone exhausted, “and I can give you as many orders as I deem right.”

All he got in response was the sound of a door being slammed. Then there was silence. 

 

**AN:** It should be noted that the authors of this story do not view Gellert Grindelwald as an incarnation of evil but rather as his own person (his personality has been pieced together from the tiny clues scattered across the last HP book rather than the later cash-grabbing films). As such, there are more complicated reasons for the events unravelling the way they did. 

This being said, any opinions will be appreciated!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

The following morning, Albus was leaving Bathilda Bagshot's house yet again. He had done what he had neglected to do during dinner: discuss the possibility of obtaining a house-elf. There was no use pretending this was the only reason behind his visit: after the many unspoken emotions of the last weeks, which had ranged from frustration to hopelessness, he was loath to lie to himself. The simple truth was that he craved company outside of his home. But the witch had appeared to be alone, and Albus's hopes had been for naught. She had, however, promised to write to the Potters about the house-elf, for they were the only family in the village wealthy enough to have a servant: so wealthy, in fact, that they could afford turning their cottage into a summer residence. Naturally, they were also in contact with the other families likely to be in possession of an elfling they could spare. It was therefore up to them to grant assistance if they could. If there was one good thing about their bigoted world, Albus reflected soberly, it was the absence of house-elf breeders whereas wealth and power came hand in hand.

As he turned the corner of the street, intent on taking a short walk in the village, a giggle claimed his attention, and he paused under the guise of adjusting his tie. In the distance, there was a blonde girl in a modest pink dress and a straw bonnet, whom he recognised as Ada Catherine Abbott, one of their young neighbours, just two years below Aberforth at Hogwarts. She was talking to Gellert, and her face was positively radiant with coquetry. Albus froze; as much as he had been hoping for an encounter with the young man, he did not wish to give Gellert the impression he was following him. But he had only just made up his mind to return to his house unobserved when the blond wizard glanced in Albus's direction. The only polite gesture that now remained to do was to touch his hat in greeting, and it was promptly reciprocated. Albus stepped forward towards the couple and gave Ada a little bow.

"Miss Abbott, Mr Grindelwald, good morning."

"Mr Dumbledore," Gellert smiled, "good morning."

"Oh, are you already acquainted?" Ada Abbott exclaimed.

"Mr Dumbledore was kind enough to accept Aunt Bathilda's invitation for a small family dinner; that is how we got to know each other," Gellert explained. "And then, this morning, Miss Abbott was kind enough to show me the way to the Apparition point."

"But you are not leaving!" Ada simpered playfully, batting her eyelashes.

"Of course not; I've only arrived, and it would be rude of me to leave this soon. I do hope it is not my direct way of speaking that has left you with such a terrible impression of me, Miss Abbott."

At this, she giggled. "A terrible impression? Not at all! I could never think anything terrible of you. The other boys around here, they are not like you..." She caught herself and turned pink, her eyes darting towards Albus. "I mean, Aberforth still throws goat manure in people’s gardens when he’s annoyed at them."

Gellert frowned at Albus, interested. "Aberforth?"

"Aberforth is my brother," Albus elaborated, a little amused and embarrassed at the way Ada had dismissed the entire male population of Godric's Hollow. "He couldn't join us the other day. I hope you will soon be able to make his acquaintance.” He paused before asking, "Do you have siblings, Mr Grindelwald?"

"No," Gellert answered in a neutral tone, "unfortunately, I do not. I take it Aberforth is your younger brother, Mr Dumbledore? You have to forgive me—being new around here, I'm afraid my curiosity might yet become bothersome."

Ada came to Gellert's defense before Albus could muster an answer.

"But it's perfectly natural to ask! You don't know anyone yet."

Gellert rewarded her vehement advocacy with a smile, appreciating her friendliness but not letting her steer the conversation away from Albus either. In reality, Ada was one of the most amiable girls Albus had ever met, yet she presently gave him a challenging look, as if daring him to disagree and attack the newcomer.

With a gallant smile in her direction, he addressed the German wizard.

"That's correct. And fear not, everyone here will be more than happy to answer any questions you have. I believe there is a saying: if you have knowledge, let others light their candles in it." The Muggle quote left him with a feeling of formality, though, so he hastened to ask, "Is Mr Heiderfeld around today?"

"Oh, yes, Dieter is going to spend the summer at Auntie's as well," Gellert nodded, smoothing over Albus's statement, which had caused Ada to look up in confusion. To add even more levity and provide an explanation for the girl’s benefit, he expanded on the topic, "Mr Dieter Heiderfeld is a friend of mine from Durmstrang. You've yet to meet him, Miss Abbott; he has the habit of sleeping in."

Ada’s eyes widened; the prospect of having not one but two newcomers in their quiet little village left her beyond excited.

"Oh, you have to tell me all about Durmstrang, Mr Grindelwald," she gushed. “Is it true they admit half-breeds and Dark wizards?” It took her a few seconds to become aware of her blunder, at which point she blushed. “I mean… we don’t really receive any visitors at Hogwarts.”

She did not need to worry, though; Gellert must have understood the girl was merely echoing a popular belief she had never thought to question.

"It will be my pleasure to tell you more about my school. Fear not, Miss Abbott, the rumours are greatly exaggerated: we do not aim to rival Herpo the Foul upon our graduation," he assured her sincerely. “But let us leave this conversation for another day. Right now, I'm afraid Mr Dumbledore and I ought to make sure we don’t get you in trouble."

"Oh, yes… I should have headed home a while ago; I didn't tell papa where I was going," she admitted, growing worried. "I saw Mr Grindelwald all by himself, trying to find his way back, and… well, Mr Grindelwald is such a smooth talker, the time just vanished."

"Should we escort you?" Gellert offered, looking between her and Albus. "It would be only polite."

It was clear Ada was not going to refuse spending another moment in Gellert's company; on the contrary, she smiled in gratitude, adjusting her basket rather flirtatiously. While they walked towards her house, which lay a mere block away, Albus spoke up. 

"I hope you and Mr Heiderfeld will have a chance to see London—there is nothing quite like Diagon Alley in the rest of Britain. Hogsmeade is also most definitely worth visiting." He halted, musing. "In fact, should you be interested in discovering Hogwarts, I can put in a word for you, though I'm sure Madam Bagshot corresponds with Headmaster Dippet a well."

"Oh, yes, yes, Mr Grindelwald, you absolutely must—it is the best magical school in the world!" Ada beamed. 

Gellert took her enthusiasm in a good spirit, even though the girl had just unconsciously slighted Durmstrang.

"I would absolutely love to visit all of these places. We discussed Hogwarts yesterday, and from everything you and Aunt Bathilda have told me, it is incredibly different from Durmstrang. If there is a chance I could go there, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

For the first time, a large smile lit Albus's face, obliterating all traces of grief. He looked forward to contacting Professor Dippet again, and he could imagine how enjoyable a tour of Hogwarts would be to a mind as curious and active as Gellert's.

"I will send an owl tonight," he assured the German wizard. "I'm certain Headmaster will be delighted to show you and Mr Heiderfeld the castle and the grounds. Miss Abbott will confirm, I’m sure, that you won't forget those sights for a long time. Perhaps you will even be allowed to get Sorted. Have you heard of the Sorting Hat, one of the heirlooms of Godric Gryffindor? Probably the wisest hat in history, one that sees to the bottom of every person’s soul and finds their dominant traits."

"Ah, so it is according to a personality assessment that the Hat makes its decisions?" Gellert asked curiously. "I have heard of the Sorting Hat, but I never knew it once belonged to one of the Founders. I wonder how they enchanted it… Sometimes it feels as though the wizards before us possessed knowledge that we have gradually lost. Don't you ever feel that way, Mr Dumbledore?"

They had now approached the Abbott house, and it was time to say goodbye to the girl.

"Albus has a gift for making any conversation dead serious, and now he's affected you with the bug!" she complained, not without flashing one last playful glance towards Gellert. "You should be careful, Mr Grindelwald."

Gellert smiled in return. "Well, Miss Abbott, it is then our task to help him be less serious at times. In all earnestness, I would be absolutely delighted to visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—and the Hogsmeade village, for that matter. In Durmstrang, the nearest village is miles away, at the very coastline. While the numerous ships docked around it offer quite a picturesque view, it is very tricky to Apparate there, especially if you've had too much Cauldron Spirit."

"Cauldron Spirit?" Ada repeated with a giggle.

"A local drink," Gellert clarified. "Not entirely innocent."

The girl giggled even louder, as though he had said something funny. "I'll see you around, Mr Grindelwald. Thank you for walking me home. And Albus… um, my condolences once again. Yesterday must have been so hard for you."

The two boys bowed to her before bidding her a good day. Not even her less than delicate chatter about his family could dampen Albus’s spirits, which had been soaring higher and higher throughout their conversation. It had been ages since he had encountered such enthusiasm in a fellow wizard: the desire to learn and to share stories of magic or simple old knowledge. Indeed, it was on a much lighter tone that he resumed their conversation when they turned around to walk towards their own houses.

"It’s true about the Hat. You see, the Founders chose to sort students to their respective Houses by testing their personalities. But they wished the system to endure after they were gone, and for this purpose, they gave Gryffindor's old hat the power of Legilimency. Since then, it has been able to see through the brain of any person who puts it on, and that's how it makes its choice. And that leads me to agree with what you said about the old magical ways and the lost wisdom. Even Legilimency is an art that only few wizards are truly good at nowadays—for a good reason too, of course. But the Founders... not only were they accomplished at it, they could actually grant such a gift to an object."

Albus drew a breath and chuckled, the sound of which nearly startled him. "I'm sorry. Miss Abbott has a point: I mustn't bore you. And I’m positively rambling."

"To be honest, it’s one of the most enjoyable rambles I've heard in a while," Gellert admitted. "I've been meaning to apologise: Auntie ended our fun rather abruptly yesterday. Perhaps I shouldn't have teased her that much after all. She must have expected a more solid answer than _singing with witches_."

"If I may say so, it was well worth it." Albus was enjoying Gellert's humour more and more with every new statement. "I had an excellent time, and the song was beautiful. Madam Bagshot always has the best intentions at heart, I'm sure."

"Well, in all fairness, my dear Aunt Bathilda can take herself a tad too seriously at times," Gellert smiled. "But I'm glad you enjoyed the dinner. Also, just in case you hoped to hear the truth yesterday, it's Conjuring—my favourite subject, that is."

"Conjuring." Albus sighed wistfully. He thought about it and found he was not truly surprised; the subject somehow _suited_ Gellert. "Another branch of magic that's not covered at Hogwarts but which I would have loved to study. Which just proves what you said yesterday about magical cooperation. So much knowledge is wasted."

"Not wasted," Gellert objected with a minute shake of his head, "just not shared. Which, of course, is but a mere symptom of the real problem. People fear what they do not know or understand." A second later, his expression cleared, and he gave Albus a friendly smile. "My apologies, Mr Dumbledore, I didn't mean to start your morning with deep philosophy. Miss Abbott might indeed be right about the two of us; we are far too serious."

"Philosophy is no poor way of starting one’s day," Albus replied, "but perhaps you are right. After all, the summer holidays have only started. If it's not too much curiosity on my part, why have you chosen England for your travel? You see, I also considered a short journey after my graduation; only, the events unfolded differently."

Gellert met Albus’s gaze at these words. "I am sorry, Mr Dumbledore." And he sounded every bit as though he meant it, unlike most villagers, who had known him for years. "I know you are in a very difficult situation; but for what it is worth, it will get easier. Auntie tells me you are a wizard of many talents—and before you object, I know Auntie well enough to be certain she is not one to bestow praise lightly—as such, there will always be people willing to help you. Worthy people get help. I should know; I've seen it happen… Speaking of, was Auntie able to heed your request? I can only assume there was something specific you wanted to talk to her about. Why else would you have chosen such an early hour? Am I correct?" 

"You are," Albus confessed, impressed. It had not escaped his notice that Gellert had not answered his question on travelling. Not that he was going to press it. "Madam Bagshot has kindly promised to contact the Potters—our neighbours, they come here in summer—as they might be able to help. And... thank you for the compliment. I can tell you have even more talents, Mr Grindelwald. Also, nothing escapes you."

The last part was meant to express admiration, not reproach.

The blond wizard brushed it off like a trifle. "You pick up a thing or two when you study at Durmstrang. There is nothing more to it, Mr Dumbledore, I promise. And just for the record, should you ever feel you could use my help, don't hesitate for a moment, not even if it means we would have to tweak Auntie's wand a little."

There was something mischievous about the warm smile Gellert cast towards Albus, who could not resist smiling back. It was simply contagious.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "I will be glad to help you as well, should you ever be in need. Let me start by negotiating a trip to Hogwarts; it's the least I can do."

"Speaking of outings," Gellert remarked, "I am aware it is not entirely appropriate, given the circumstances, but Dieter and I would like to visit Diagon Alley, like you suggested. In fact, we have been planning on taking a little trip there one of these evenings, and I meant to bring it up at dinner yesterday, but alas, better late than never. I wonder if you could join us, Mr Dumbledore."

Uncomfortably aware of the mourning band around his arm, Albus nevertheless hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. Next to the prospect of being cloistered inside the house for Merlin knew how long, spending an evening in London with this German wizard and his kind-hearted companion sounded like a dream come true.

"I would be honoured," he heard himself declare before his brain was even done processing it.

"It is an open invitation, Mr Dumbledore; if you feel you are not able to come after all, neither Dieter nor I will take it personally," Gellert affirmed, observing him carefully before smiling again. "Though Auntie would secretly be delighted if someone finally taught me some proper English manners and helped me reign in my terrible continental savagery."

This last joke did it, and Albus laughed, now fully aware that he was not going to miss this outing for anything. His smile did not fade away even when they reached their street and met the sight of Aberforth fussing over a goat.

"I would not dream of spoiling your pleasant disposition with the dull English poise," he assured Gellert, "but it will be my pleasure to join you." He paused. "This is my brother, Aberforth. May I introduce you?"

He turned towards the younger boy. "Aberforth, this is Gellert Grindelwald, Madam Bagshot's great-nephew. He attends Durmstrang and will hopefully be spending a while in Godric’s Hollow."

Gellert smiled, waiting for Aberforth to acknowledge him so that they could shake hands. All too soon, it became clear this was not going to happen. Despite his somewhat stronger jaw, shorter hair and less intelligence in the eyes, Aberforth looked similar to Albus. And yet, they could not be more different. What he lacked in cordiality, he decidedly made up for in confidence. He was also remarkably undisturbed by the fact that the boys had walked in on him inspecting a goat’s backside. After a momentary glare at Gellert, Aberforth threw his brother a dark look and went into the house without a word, his posture furious.

"Aberforth!" Albus called after him, but there was no response of any kind.

Instead, the boy slammed the front door, and they could hear him stomping inside. It took Albus some effort to stop himself from closing his eyes in sheer shame.

"I'm very sorry," he uttered to Gellert.

"No," the other wizard said confidently, "I am the intruder here, and it is a difficult time for both of you. I should have realised it. You don't owe me an apology, Mr Dumbledore."

The words brought a shadow of a smile to Albus's face, who found himself wishing Aberforth deserved such magnanimous attitude. With a sigh, he shook Gellert's hand in goodbye, already impatient to see him again.

"Thank you. Thanks very much."

Keeping his mood from deflating upon crossing the threshold of his house was no small task. He had been repressing hurt at his brother's uncompromising obstinacy for so long that his self-control was at its limit. He was one thing; Gellert, on the other hand, had done nothing to deserve such aggression.

"This was not acceptable, Aberforth." His voice was calmer than he had expected.

Aberforth, he could see, was becoming equally angry, or perhaps Albus's wrath no longer intimidated him. Without the slightest acknowledgment, he headed for the kitchen, manifestly intent on performing a set of household spells. This left Albus with no other option but to speak on.

"Why did you have to insult a guest? What has he done to you? He is Madam Bagshot's relative, and I've asked her to do us all a favour. Do you want our few friends to turn away from us as well?"

"What favour?" Aberforth grunted, deliberately dismissing everything else his brother had just said.

"She promised to reach out to her contacts so that we can have a house-elf."

This did it. When Aberforth finally responded, shattering several plates with a slashing movement of his wand in the process, his voice sounded so bitter that Albus wanted to take a step back.

"A house-elf? Why am I not surprised? Let me guess: looking after Ariana is proving too much for you after all? It’s been _two_ days since mother's funeral, and you can't take it any more. Missing your academic journals already?"

Albus blinked, floored by this injustice. "You're being very unfair. I've done it to help all of us, especially you. Ever since we came back from Hogwarts, you haven't sat down. I felt it would help you."

"Help me? Help me become selfish like you?" Aberforth could no longer contain his rage. "HOW MANY TIMES DID MOTHER HAVE TO ASK YOU TO HELP? BUT NO, GREAT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, THE GREATEST WIZARD OF OUR GENERATION, CAN'T BE BOTHERED, CAN HE NOW?"

With a flick of his wand, Albus cast the Soundproof Charm around the kitchen. Ariana could not hear them shouting, not now that they had only lost their mother, not ever.

"Do you have anything else to say to me?" he retorted coolly. 

"I hate you.” Aberforth’s voice was unyielding. "It has only been two days— _two days_ —but you just don't care, do you? I was willing to believe you yesterday, you know—that you absolutely _had_ to go to that ugly hag's dinner. Or what, are you going to tell me you absolutely _have to_ lick her flashy relative's boots too?"

"You should be ashamed," Albus said quietly. "Here you are, judging people you have never exchanged two words with, not even trying to understand them. But I am the one who doesn't care, like always."

"We don't need a house elf," his brother declared. "And the sooner _he_ gets out of here, the better. Why did he come anyway? Even that hag doesn't want him around."

"What is your problem with Gellert? You set your eyes on him seconds ago."

"He's a Dark wizard. Funny how you don't see it… being blinded by your own brilliance, I suppose."

"Attending Durmstrang doesn't make him a Dark wizard, let alone the kind that you have in mind." Albus's features had set into a no less hard expression. "It's a prejudice, Aberforth, and you should know better than to take prejudice for truth. Not when you throw manure into people's gardens, as Ada complained this morning."

Aberforth snorted. "That's what they get for annoying me."

"Then you can hardly be surprised when no one is particularly eager to please you." Moving past him at last, Albus started sorting out vegetables for lunch, grateful he could use magic for the space of a moment. "You should know this, however. An owl came from Gringotts, summarising the contents of our family vault and confirming the transfer of guardianship from mother to me. We are nearly out of money, Aberforth."

"We have goats," his brother objected soberly, "and chickens. And we can grow everything we need in the garden; we don't even _need_ money. You just want to get out; that's all you care about because you think you're too good for us. So, sure, associate yourself with Dark wizard scum instead. Since when do you care about us?”

Aberforth was now baiting him, Albus could tell, and he was not going to give in to such provocation.

"Yes, we do need money," he insisted, focusing on the argument itself while casting a spell to produce fire for heating the kettle. "We need clothes, we need potion ingredients, and we need to be able to afford Healers if it ever comes to that. And maybe—just maybe—some money could be set aside for Ari. There will come a time when she will want more out of life."

"And a house-elf is going to help us how, exactly?" Aberforth asked, his eyes narrowed, as though he was unsure whether to believe Albus.

"The house-elf will do the chores when I'm at work. And to get work, I have to build connections. Not to mention you ought to finish your education. After that, you are free to choose what you wish to do."

Aberforth kept watching him, still suspicious.

"Fine," he uttered at last. "Have your elf if you can get one, but leave me out of it."

Albus’s sigh of relief was short-lived, though.

"And stay away from that scum of a Dark wizard—I _don't_ want him near us."

And with this, Albus was left alone in the kitchen to ponder over that morning’s exchanges, wondering if his desire for the German’s wizard’s company truly rendered him selfish. Yet even supposing it did, he could not stay in and mourn forever.

 

**AN:** The German wizard is slowly charming the entire village, but could Albus’s antisocial little brother possibly be right about him? While the answer to this question is well-known, Gellert might still surprise you, so keep reading.

Most importantly, I hope you are enjoying the late Victorian atmosphere in this story. The gens used to be more gallant, the gals more coquettish, and the language more romantic back then. On this note, don’t hesitate to leave feedback, dear readers. It’s always appreciated.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

The next two days came as close to a truce at home as Albus had ever experienced. The sullen silence between Aberforth and himself was devoid of some of its usual tension while Ariana... Ariana was slowly getting better. She seemed to have accepted the fact that mother was not coming back, and most of the merit for her adjustment went to Aberforth. Indeed, he was the one who had the most calming effect on her, due, perhaps, to his down-to-earth nature, his protectiveness and his somewhat fatherly authority, which was at odds with his otherwise juvenile demeanour. It did not help Albus feel any less guilty, especially when he found himself thinking of little else but the German wizard, waiting for their outing with impatience. Even as he performed chore upon chore in the dreary darkness of the house—for he mainly cleaned and cooked while his brother, watched by Ariana, worked outdoors—he missed company even more than he missed his books.

On the third morning after his conversation with Gellert, he opened the curtains of his window, savouring the breeze of the dawn. For the life of him, he could not fathom out why houses were made this gloomy on the inside.

The street was quiet, and so was Madam Bagshot's house just across his own. So far as he knew, she was not an early riser. But the thought barely left his mind when the window opposite his own opened, prompting him to button up his shirt as quickly as he could. That room being always dark, he had assumed Bathilda did not use it. It was not she who appeared there, though.

His fingers faltered when he met Gellert's gaze, and a blush of embarrassment was halfway to his face, but he smiled and nodded in greeting. For an instant, the German boy appeared stunned, but his familiar grin of amusement was back in seconds. It was, indeed, no small coincidence that the window of his guest room happened to face Albus's bedroom. He lifted a string of black fabric that Albus recognised as a tie and winked. The message came together: they were going out that same day.

Albus could not have suppressed his look of delight if he had tried. Rising his index finger to ask for a minute of patience, he hurried to his desk and wrote a note.

_Shall we meet at the Apparition point at a time that is convenient for you?_

A tap of his wand, and the note folded itself into the shape of a bird, taking flight on two flapping wings towards the blond boy's window. He waited, hopeful his suggestion would be accepted without vexation. There was no guilt in his mind at disregarding his brother's demand that he stop all contact with the German wizard; his decision was his own, and he longed for this friendship. Still, if he could avoid an open confrontation, he was going to try.

Gellert received the piece of parchment with an intrigued expression. Upon reading it, he tilted his head aside, as if impressed by Albus's unexpected daring. It was not a gesture of disapproval, though. He thought for a few seconds before writing down a response and sent the note back. It read:

_We'll be waiting for you there at four o'clock._

A sense of solemnity descended upon Albus, as though he had just taken a step in an entirely new direction. He nodded his agreement, mouthed _Until later_ , and with one last smile, left the window, conscious he ought to mask his excitement if he meant to prevent conflict. To both his pleasure and shame, he did so skillfully. Aberforth raised no objection to his brother’s claim that the Gringotts business needed attending to, and at 4 sharp, Albus was at the agreed spot, dressed more formally than was customary for him. 

It turned out to be the most enjoyable afternoon he could remember. Strolling in Diagon Alley at leisure, for no other reason but to discover what had changed and what was new, was a joy in itself. But he found it much more fascinating to watch Gellert and Dieter, for they were visibly having a very good time. It took them nearly two hours to reach the end of the Alley, having lingered at quite a few shops including Flourish & Blotts, Quidditch Supplies and the Florist’s. All of them agreed Madam Bagshot ought to be gifted a token of their gratitude, her fierce manners notwithstanding.

Laden with a tall flower basket, as well as a bag containing sweets and Dieter’s new notebook, the boys made their way to the turn where the street led into Knockturn Alley. Instinctively, Albus stopped to head back, wondering what the best place for dinner might be. To his surprise, Gellert walked right into the other alley, his step confident as though he had intended to go there all along.

“Mr Grindelwald,” Albus called, catching up to him, “are you sure you want to go that way? This is Knockturn Alley. It’s not a generally well-regarded street.”

"Oh?" Gellert asked lightly.

“That is to say, it’s not dangerous,” Albus admitted, careful to formulate his answer in a manner that would come across as unbiased. Having attended Durmstrang, the two German wizards were not going to be intimidated by several shops of Dark artifacts. “Not nowadays. But about decade ago, a killer was on the loose, and two bloody murders happened right there, only yards from each other. He was never caught, and ever since, the street has been viewed as a place of disrepute. If we are seen going there, people might not understand or forgive us.”

"I 'ave read about zis in ze papers," Dieter spoke up. "Zat madman did it on ze continent too. Zey never got 'im, or? I remember eet because coincidentally, zere vos a Muggle like zis on ze loose too around ze same time."

"Well, he will have to change his plans if he intends to return tonight," Gellert declared. "Because I've taken the liberty of making a booking for us."

"A booking?" Albus glanced across Knockturn Alley; its style reminded him of the Slytherin dungeon. There seemed to be only two suitable establishments: a controversial inn called Acromantula's Lair, and what looked like a gentlemen's club. Two purebloods in expensive clothes stood talking at its entrance. It occurred to him what people would say if they were seen going there. Not that the club itself was a scandalous place. It was rather the fact that socialising at a venue favoured by the Blacks, the Malfoys and the Lestranges felt strange and vaguely forbidden. For the boys' sake, however, he decided to swallow his apprehension.

"Oh, I see. It's very thoughtful of you."

Gellert frowned. "Is something wrong, Mr Dumbledore? If it is about being _seen_ , I am confident we will hardly encounter anyone from Godric's Hollow here. And should we run into some of the wizards you attended Hogwarts with, I'll be delighted to make their acquaintance."

Albus looked at him thoughtfully. He was not sure how to even begin to explain what was essentially a very simple yet powerful principle Englishmen absorbed since their infanthood. Among the grave social crimes, rising above one's station was near the very top. Everyone was supposed to live by their social class standards. His family might have started at the lower end of middle class, but after everything that had happened, they were impoverished; he was certain one could read it on his face, if not in his clothes. As such, going into an establishment designed for the wealthiest purebloods felt inappropriate, and he could already anticipate the quirked eyebrows of the staff and the other guests. But Gellert and Dieter were German; their mindsets were perhaps less strict, and what with their Durmstrang education, they were likely wealthy too. His dilemma did not concern them. Truth be told... he had been craving Gellert's company too much to be put off by a few indulgent smiles.

"No, nothing is wrong," he assured them.

"Good," Gellert concluded, "because the lovely witch who works here was ready to make an Oath when she promised it was a place worth visiting. I am rather curious to see if it’s true."

Dieter gave Albus an encouraging smile.

"Gellert knows 'ow to talk to zem."

Albus smiled back at him, touched. He could tell Dieter had understood exactly what had gone through his mind. This made him wonder whether he had misjudged the quiet wizard after all; possibly, he was not wealthy by the Durmstrang standards.

With a nod, he followed the boys towards the entrance of the building, where they were greeted by a deferential attendant: an impeccably clothed middle-aged wizard who welcomed them into the club as though they were members of royalty. Dieter was right: Gellert knew how to talk to them, though it did not surprise Albus at this point. It helped that the blond wizard had an air of highbred charisma about him, as well as manners that made people feel valued in his presence. More than a little impressed, Albus used the moment to look around him, inspecting the large halls draped in green and gold, the men in suits smoking cigars on the nearby terrace, the trolley full of flowers and delicacies that a witch was spelling towards one of the suites. But he could not help avoiding everyone's eye, not even when a hostess appeared at the attendant’s call to escort them to their own private room. They followed her through hallways panelled with gleaming marbled surfaces towards the first floor, her silhouette floating before them, shaped into an elegant hourglass by her tightly laced dress. Their room was also draped in green and gold and was furnished with a sofa, armchairs, a coffee table and a large billiard board.

He turned around to ask his companions if they had much experience in playing that game, only to realise that Dieter's expression had become dazed. Following his gaze, he finally took in their hostess. She was very young and pretty, and his first thought was to wonder at the kind of men who came to this venue if management deemed it fit to hire witches this young for servicing them. Then he noticed something else.

The witch was eyeing Gellert rather appreciatively; it was hard to miss, for she had spared the other two boys nothing besides one professional smile.

"I have an order of champagne, mead and Firewhisky, a selection of our in-house appetizers and caviar. Is this correct?"

"Oh, yes, that would be perfect," Gellert said. "Although, as a matter of fact, I would like to make an additional request."

At the witch's curious inquiry, he produced the bouquet he had earlier purchased for Madam Bagshot.

"These need careful attention while my friends and I enjoy our wizards' night out."

"Ah, but they make an absolutely adorable ensemble," the witch exclaimed on a somewhat coquettish tone. "I will take good care of them. Fear not, the lucky witch will never know they had to wait a little."

"They are for my aunt," Gellert specified, answering the question she had never directly voiced. "However, for all your care and tender attention, here..."

He handpicked one flower out the bouquet and handed it to her.

"A small token of gratitude for the beautiful lady. I do hope you won't think me too daring or inappropriate."

She smiled at him in a way that suggested they now shared a secret.

"Well, I really shouldn't be accepting gifts, but I suppose a small exception could be made, seeing how you are not from here."

"Guilty," Gellert admitted. "Just a lost foreign wizard enchanted by the beauty and the grace of our hostess."

"Well, it is perfectly understandable." She smiled again. "If you need anything else—"

"I know just the witch," Gellert finished for her.

With this, the exchange was over. To continue it would have been too bold; it already was borderline unacceptable, and more could result in trouble for the girl since there were strict policies at such places.

"Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Your order shall appear shortly."

Albus had listened to the conversation almost breathlessly. He had never seen anyone bend the limits of social rules as skilfully and effortlessly as Gellert. It was a gift; only truly charismatic people could get away with it and be not only forgiven but applauded for doing so. The wizard’s face was radiant with charm when he engaged in… seduction? Or was it courtesy? Albus was not even sure how to name it. There was no doubt the witch had quickly fallen under his spell; it helped, of course, that she could be no older than nineteen, which rendered their flirtation a little more admissible. Though no witch of any age was likely to resist such gallant attention.

But apart from his admiration for Gellert’s personality, what Albus was feeling could be best described as annoyance, which left him ashamed of himself. It seemed to him as though the girl was… taking too much upon herself. A young lady was supposed to be more modest. And he was a complete and utter hypocrite for even thinking so. There he was, standing in a private billiard room and judging a young lady for not being insensitive towards youth and gallantry and good looks. Feeling a blush creep upon his cheeks, he glanced towards Dieter. He could tell the other boy was not any happier about the exchange they had witnessed. Sure enough, the reprimand came the moment the door had closed behind the hostess.

"Did you 'ave to?"

His countryman responded with a cocky smile. "I might yet get a personal invitation to visit her by the end of the evening."

"She vill never give you zat."

"You think so?"

Dieter reacted to Gellert’s playful challenge with the closest thing to a glare Albus had yet seen him muster. It had no effect except for a good-natured chuckle.

"Mr Dumbledore, are you very hungry?" Gellert inquired, turning towards him instead.

"A little," Albus admitted, grateful for this return to a more neutral topic, both for Dieter's sake and, inexplicably, his own. "The walk has been very enjoyable. Are you?"

"I do believe we could start by having dinner. And Dieter, the mead is for you."

Dieter sighed, his shoulders sagging a little.

"Vell, zank you. But one of zese days, it von't cut it any more."

Gellert rolled his eyes. "Oh, cheer up, will you? Or Mr Dumbledore will soon start feeling very uncomfortable. Besides, we did have a very enjoyable walk."

"Zat ve did," Dieter nodded with a smile at Albus. It was interesting to see him heed his more dominant companion's request and change the topic. "Zank you, Mr Dumbledore."

"No, thank _you_ ," Albus said sincerely, "I haven't had such an excellent time in ages." 

Truth be told, he was a little disconcerted by Gellert's teasing and asked himself again and again why the boy had done it when it had made Dieter so uncomfortable. Not that he had not witnessed similar teasing between the other boys at Hogwarts, but he could not understand why it was done at all. Perhaps he had never been this close to anyone. His school friend, Doge, had what could be called a pensive and sensitive nature, devoid of laughter. It made him very different from the crowd. And yet, next to Gellert...

To distract himself from these thoughts, he turned towards the coffee table where refreshments had meanwhile appeared out of thin air, sent no doubt by an army of house-elves, just like at Hogwarts.

"Mead it is, Mr Heiderfeld? And for you, Mr Grindelwald?"

"I’ve ordered a glass of Firewhisky. I’ve heard it's a rather English thing—Firewhisky, that is."

"A Scottish drink that has taken the country by storm," Albus nodded, giving the two decanters a tap of his wand so that drinks could be poured into glasses.

For himself, he chose water. The evening was still young, and he had a vague impression as though the ground had been sliding from under his feet all along, insidious and unobserved. He wished to keep his head clear, yet at the same time, he did not. As far as food went, those were mostly bites made of fish, sea fruits and meats and combined with other no less expensive ingredients.

"Ah, so it's Scottish and not English. Mr Dumbledore, it has to be our secret; I implore you, let no Scottish wizard know about my blunder,” Gellert laughed.

"No, tell zem; Gellert’s ‘ead eez getting too big ozerwise," Dieter insisted before changing the subject. "But ze mead eez good… Eet eez still better at 'ome, of course, but eet eez not bad ‘ere."

"The empire is rather known for its quality of mead," Gellert agreed. “Don’t mind him, Mr Dumbledore, it is merely natural bias speaking.”

"I'd love to visit the empire one day," Albus confessed, now levitating the plates of finger food so that they could be passed around. He could not resist sending a grin Gellert’s way. "And have no fear; you can have as many blunders as you like. No one knows we are here, in Knockturn Alley. Does it mean this evening never happens as far as history is concerned?"

"We will extract its existence from our memories to preserve it in an enchanted vessel," Gellert promised dramatically. "Or else, we could try not to blab it out to Auntie..."

Albus chuckled. Just like the other day, he found the other boy's humour contagious. And true it was too, for what Madam Bagshot knew was likely to be known by the whole village in less than a day.

"So do you play the billiard often? Do you have a table in Durmstrang?" he inquired.

"I've played it, yes, but I wouldn't call myself an expert,” Gellert said. “Good thing that you ask, though; I was going to propose a game. Do you play, Mr Dumbledore?"

"I've tried but am not good at it either. What about you, Mr Heiderfeld?"

"Zame," Dieter admitted. "Ozer wizards play down at Gretten Bjørn, but I mostly ztay to read. Eet eez Gellert vho gets invited zere."

“Ah, come now, you are welcome every time, Dieter.”

While they helped themselves to more food, Albus voiced one of his sources of curiosity, "I understand there is secrecy where the school location is concerned, but since it is far in the North, it must be very different from your home. Did you ever feel a certain difference when coming to school? A shift in mentality and in magic, to say nothing of the scenery?"

Dieter and Gellert exchanged glances, and then they both laughed as if Albus had said something funny. It was Gellert who explained first.

"It is easier to ask what _isn't_ different, Mr Dumbledore. In none of our respective countries would we have gotten away with the things we do at school. Durmstrang Institute is very international—students from all over Europe are welcome to attend as long as their blood status and finances allow it. There are witches and wizards from as far as Italy and Bulgaria attending the Institute, to say nothing of the differences you see between the students who come from the different regions of the same country. Take Dieter and myself, for instance: Dieter comes from the very North of the empire, whereas I am from the South. Muggles from our respective regions are infamous for their dislike of each other, and some of it inevitably rubs off on the wizarding relations. Ironically, it is precisely due to the unique atmosphere of our Nordic school that we can look past the political tensions and respect each other purely as fellow wizards. It is like having a double life in a way, both at the Institute and outside of it."

"Vot Gellert means to zay eez zat even Muggles from Bavaria are notoriously stuck-up—to zay nozing of wizards—they vent as far as to declare zemselves a separate kingdom and to try and snub ze rest of ze empire every chance zey get."

This was obviously meant as a jest, though, for Dieter's tone held no malice.

"See, Mr Dumbledore?" Gellert sighed in a theatrical manner, playing along. "This is what I am talking about—this is what we, poor Southerners, have to put up with: endless, utterly unfounded accusations."

"It's fascinating," Albus said wistfully, though he was laughing at the boys’ banter. "If the Institute is this international, what is the official study language? Or should I say languages? Are there options?"

"It always varies to a degree," Gellert replied. "However, it has been agreed to have four official teaching languages: German, naturally, but also English, Italian, and Bulgarian. At the moment, I'd say German is the language of preference for most students, but it is always subject to change. Dieter regrets not paying more attention to English now that we're here."

"Eet eez true," Dieter sighed. “Zere alvays vere ozer things to study. But I think eet eez fascinating 'ow any magical creature language eez not really like learning a language but rather performing Legilimency and conveying your thoughts to ze magical creature. Zose are electives; you can also study ze Merfolk language and some ozers."

"The thing is, you could _get by_ speaking only one of those four languages," Gellert added, "at the expense of losing out on communication with some of the fellow students. And, of course, learning Norwegian is a good idea if ever you Apparate in a Muggle area and need to explain your presence. But it doesn't usually happen. The school takes precautions."

"Gellert does speak eet," Dieter said.

"I pretend I do.” The latter winked in a conspiratorial fashion. "Oddly, it works every time."

So it was located in Norway after all, Albus thought, intrigued. The idea of attending all of those extra classes made him want to groan in frustration, just like the shame of knowing no human language besides English and some functional Latin and ancient Greek.

"How I wish I'd attended," he said longingly. "Don't get me wrong, I love Hogwarts, and it now feels like a second home. But the comprehensive magical education you got, it sounds like a dream. Are you telling me you actually studied Legilimency? Here, it is more of an exception."

"No, no, it is the staple—only, of course, it is something of a courtesy not to actively use it on fellow witches and wizards. But let's suppose you are in a situation where you are not sure what the other person intends. It’s better to cast a quick _Legilimens_ and make sure it’s all safe—personally, I would argue that it could save your life."

"Eet eez not the staple at 'Ogwarts?" Dieter asked.

Albus shook his head. "Not at all. I asked Headmaster Dippet for permission to take Legilimency and Occlumency as extra subjects, and he had to send an official form to the Ministry, confirming it was for academic purposes only. They didn't raise objections, but it's the rule anyway. It's a bit like the Restricted Section at Hogwarts Library: everything written on the Dark Arts is locked in that one section, and you can't access it without a teacher's authorisation."

"Oh, eet eez a very Light school zen?"

"One could say that. We only have Defense against the Dark Arts. I agree with you, though; mastery of these branches of magic can save your life. Even at school, the students who come from Dark families can find themselves at an advantage. Perhaps you have heard of the Chamber of Secrets. If the legend is true, one has to be very well prepared in case the Heir of Slytherin comes back."

"I think I've heard of that legend!" Gellert exclaimed enthusiastically. "Is it really true?"

"No one knows for sure," Albus said, genuinely pleased to see his friend so excited. "Except for the Gaunts—Slytherin's heirs, that is. But they will never, ever tell. Personally, I think it's possible. The castle is huge, and some of its parts have a mind of their own; I wouldn't at all be surprised if it still concealed secret rooms. In fact, some students have been talking of a room that appears when you have a need of it but is impossible to find at other times. I haven't found it yet, but if I ever come back to school, I hope to have a chance."

"Well, if someone finds it, it will be you, Mr Dumbledore; I believe you are a wizard of a rather impressive resourcefulness." Gellert smiled. "Shall we play?"

Their food was all eaten indeed.

"Gladly."

Albus moved to the billiard table, grateful for this excuse to look away, for the compliment had, utterly out of his control, caused his blood flow to speed up. The embarrassment he had experienced at their arrival, due both to the expensive nature of the venue and to the coquettish waitress, was now gone without a trace. He felt completely relaxed and content in the boys' company. So much so that he did not want to go home. He glanced at Gellert, who had raised his wand to arrange the balls into the correct initial position, and there was something inexpressible on his mind.

Ever since the dinner at Madam Bagshot's house, he had been drawn to the German wizard. Maybe it had started even earlier, on the day of the funeral. It could be the wizard’s humorous and charismatic bearing, or his considerate eloquence, or his very obvious cleverness. It could be his lack of prejudice and his cautious disregard of the society's most rigid norms. But at that moment, as he watched Gellert’s figure, clad in an elegant dark suit, he realised there was something more. Something so visceral and yet so alarming that he automatically turned away under the pretext of helping himself to some mead.

"We could use some music," the blond wizard decided, oblivious to his friend’s musing. "Any preferences?"

"I don't mind," Albus said, discarding the mead after a few sips. "I like all the styles, really. Choir, organ, chamber music, opera. What is your favourite?"

All he received in response was a mysterious smile, and as a vinyl record slid into the gramophone box, the peaceful melody of chamber music filled the room.

"Now, how about we raise the stakes?" Gellert suggested. "Let's say the winner gets to ask our lovely hostess out for an evening. Dieter, you'd be interested, wouldn’t you?"

The latter looked at Albus, whose relaxed satisfaction seemed to dissolve in a matter of seconds as his heart sank. He would have cringed, were it not unacceptable.

"Please don't think me a spoilsport, Mr Grindelwald," he smiled apologetically, "but I have to decline, even if I should win. I would rather the two of you did as well. We may have met only recently, but I consider you my friends, and I would be most aggrieved if one of you ended up duelling that young lady's father."

"Duelling her father?" Gellert let out a genuine laugh at this. Even Dieter cracked a smile. "No, no, I don't think any of us would do anything to warrant _that_. We are merely talking about a tea. How about Dieter gets to offer a token of his gratitude if you win? And if I win, the victory will naturally be mine. We are just having a good time after all, so how about it, Dieter—I take it you’re interested?"

"Bring it," the other boy answered, surprising Albus for once.

"That's more like it! I promise I will put in a good word for you."

"Zo you think you win, or?"

"Of course I will," Gellert stated lightly.

Dieter glanced at Albus. "You zaid you vould 'ave vanted to attend Durmstrang earlier, or? Vell, zat attitude"—he motioned towards Gellert—”eez prevalent. I zink 'Ogwarts eez simpler, or?"

"It's wonderful to see you both so enthusiastic," his companion commented before Albus could offer a reply.

This being said, he made the first move.

Albus could not help it; he took one more sip of mead. It had a sweet, mellow taste that warmed and comforted him in a wink. Why he needed it at that moment, he could not have explained. Or rather, he knew but was too ashamed to admit it. And yet, as his turn came, he aimed carefully. Should he win, Dieter would be able to indulge in his wish. For him, it was a genuine wish and not a game.

Once again, he allowed himself the question why Gellert was teasing his classmate. And as he watched him play, Albus’s mind was in more disarray than he was letting on. He felt the compulsion to probe his feelings, to untangle them, but the task was frightening. _What if...?_

The feelings Gellert inspired in him were not the same as those he nurtured towards Dieter, which were sympathy and friendship. Yet he was so afraid of identifying his emotions; it was like avoiding lifting a stone, knowing a large and ugly spider was hiding underneath. Not formulating them was just as much of a torment, though, especially when the prospect of that pretty girl steering Gellert’s personal attention towards herself loomed close.

His eyes suddenly met those of the German wizard, and he realised he had been gazing at him a little longer than was ordinary. He felt colour rise to his cheeks.

Fortunately, Gellert had the sense of tact not to call Albus out on it; or he had mistaken his blush for heat, the room being rather hot.

"It's true, though," he spoke up suddenly, "I imagine Hogwarts is simpler than Durmstrang, which is attended only by those who can afford it. And while education there is of a high standard, it does imply putting up with some… ah, not so pleasant individuals. That being said, no need to exaggerate, Dieter."

The other German boy grimaced a little before addressing Albus. "You vould 'ave passed zeir tests, Mr Dumbledore. And, yes, ze classes are very interesting."

"Tests?" Albus echoed blankly before understanding dawned on him. "You mean, tests proposed by some of those unpleasant individuals? What are they?"

"Trials of sorts," Gellert clarified, "a series of tests a student has to pass in order to be accepted by his peers. If you pass, you become a part of the group, which, in turn, means you get invited to some very good parties."

"Eet eez a little superficial," Dieter objected, "but also, some people are truly nice and… um, I don't know 'ow to say eet best, but eet can be very good to 'ave someone from a good family as a friend."

"Dieter is afraid you might interpret this as social climbing," Gellert specified since the other boy was clearly having trouble making his point, "but it is not the case; it is more similar to the way you asked for Auntie's help with the house-elf the other day. Who else can help with something like this if not those who have access to it? However, it can get a little out of hand when students desperately want to become a part of the group. If you go too far, you can end up being the target of quite a few jokes because, in the end, the character is what matters most. The very same traditional jumping off the highest cliff, which is the staple of these trials, is meant to test whether you have the courage to do it. That’s all there is to it."

"If you do not pass, eet vill get very lonely," Dieter remarked soberly. "Also, the others vill laugh."

"That is, sadly, the drawback," Gellert conceded. "But we did all right."

Albus pondered this as he made his move. There was nothing comparable at Hogwarts; not in Gryffindor at any rate. Whether Slytherins had their own power play in place was another question, but no rumours had ever reached him.

"I see," he nodded at last, "it makes sense. So cliff jumping is the staple trial, you say. In winter too, I imagine. With or without wand?"

"With a wand," Gellert assured him. "It would be plain deadly otherwise, even for a wizard. I like it, though; I did it later on my own a few times. It's quite a thrill."

Dieter muttered something in German, and though Albus did not understand the language, he was quite sure it had to be something along the lines of _madman_. But whatever it was, it only amused Gellert.

"Dieter didn't jump," he went on. "Personally, I was impressed. Refusing to do something like this takes courage as well."

"Ze second start of our friendship after Gellert 'ad stopped talking to me for a year," Dieter added.

"Wasn't that long. Dieter exaggerates everything."

Albus was not certain how to answer. He wondered what could possibly have caused a nearly year-long estrangement between two good friends, though prying would have been impolite. He also felt that their respective attitudes accurately summarised their personalities: Gellert's energetic, somewhat reckless courage and his liking for excitement were unlike Dieter's quiet type of bravery. Picturing in his mind a snow-covered cliff under a starry sky mirrored in a lake, he felt a twinge of excitement of his own. If armed with a wand, it could, in truth, be a very thrilling experience, especially in a place this beautiful.

"I'm glad the rift didn't last," he said delicately.

"It's a lot more fun to be in company, I agree," Gellert commented, though the atmosphere was back at its comfortable point. "But I have to say, gentlemen, your situation at present is dire."

He was referring to the game. Albus looked at the billiard table. Admittedly, he had been too focused on their conversation and his many emotions to pay too much attention to the game. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought that Dieter would receive no opportunity to speak to the girl. And he himself would not have a chance to have a word alone with Gellert... though, perhaps, this was for the best.

With a sigh, he leaned over and sent a ball rolling, only to fail once again.

"I don't know what's got into me," he lamented.

"A few gulps of delicious mead, perhaps? But it’s too late," Gellert said teasingly. And with his last move, he won fair and square. "If you'll excuse me, I shall be returning shortly."

The moment he was gone, Dieter sighed.

"Typical—Gellert alvays vins."

Albus looked at him, understanding. Or at least he thought he understood.

"I'm sorry.”

"Eet eez all right; I just let myself get carried away." Dieter shrugged. "So, you liked mead, or?"

"I did." Albus looked at his unfinished glass but did not momentarily feel like having any. If anything, he would have preferred Firewhisky. But his wish to do something nice for Dieter was at the forefront of his mind. "You said you liked magical history," he recalled, "that it was your favourite subject. Do you know history at Hogwarts is taught by a ghost?"

"By a ghost, really?" Dieter’s interest was spiked by this unusual detail.

"It's true. Professor Binns used to teach when he was alive. One morning—he was already of a certain age—he died, but he was so committed to his duty, he... left his body behind, so to say, and floated into the classroom through a wall. Headmaster Dippet had always been fond of him, and he never thought it right to replace him."

Albus paused, smiling a little at the recollection. "I can show you my notes if you like."

"I vould like that very much, yes—at Durmstrang, we 'ad debates and I alvays prepared with library books, but ze notes can be mozt valuable. Zank you.”

Despite his excitement, Dieter frowned at the sight of Albus pouring himself some Firewhisky. Noticing his look, the English wizard tilted the decanter. "Can I offer you some?"

"Um..." There was a pause as Dieter contemplated how formal he should be when addressing Albus. Unable to decide, her omitted his name altogether. "Zis eez a very strong drink."

"I'll only have a gulp," Albus promised, his smile coming out faint and weary.

He seized his glass and swallowed the measure. In seconds, the back of his throat seemed to explode in flames, which spread to the rest of his body.

"You're right," he admitted, “it is strong."

Dieter gave him a sheepish grin. "Eet eez better not to… repeat vot Gellert does.”

He had noticed the way Albus had been observing his countryman earlier that evening, and he knew bad habits could be contagious. Everyone was fascinated by Gellert after all.

The English boy looked at him, a thoughtful frown on his brows. "You are good friends, though. He must be a very good and worthy wizard to have earned your friendship."

"Oh, you zink zat because of today—zat we are too different to be friends, or?" Dieter guessed. "Vell, zometimes I am zo angry wiz 'im zat I vant to hex ‘im, but 'e vos there for me me vhen no one else vos, and 'e made ze Veelas stop from… vell, you know. I sometimes get nervous viz vitches, and Veelas can sense eet and… not all Veelas are nice. I don't know, do you 'ave zem at 'Ogwarts?"

Albus shook his head, surprised at this revelation. "Not in recent memory, no."

"Vell, at Durmstrang, we 'ave zem. Zey… um, use zeir magic and make you stupid, just to 'ave a laugh."

He shook his head as if to shake off an unpleasant memory, but at that instant, there was commotion behind the door, and they heard a giggle. Gellert was back, accompanied by their hostess. 

With a deep but silent sigh, Albus hoisted a polite smile on his face. The girl was blushing, and while holding onto the rules must have become a second nature to her, she looked considerably more relaxed in the blond wizard's company. As for Gellert, he was quite in his element: in control of the situation, confident and charming. As Albus gazed at him, it was not difficult to reconcile the different facets of that wizard's personality into one: his helpful, decent nature; his reckless courage; his playful charm. The more Albus thought about it, the more he had to admire him, and the sadder he became. He was no one to be of any interest to Gellert as a friend; his academic knowledge was his only asset, and it made him about as interesting as a bookkeeper’s record.

"I’ve confessed to Miss O'Breathnach we are not very familiar with England,” Gellert was saying. “I hope it is all right. After all, who better to give us suggestions than this lovely lady, who did her best to make our evening so special?"

"Just doing my job.” The witch smiled. "Did you enjoy yourselves, gentlemen?"

Albus nodded with a polite word of thanks. He glanced at Dieter, whose cheeks had gone pink. It seemed that Gellert had slipped the girl a hint, for when she approached to give them a parting gift from the establishment—a little box of company-made cigars—it was Dieter she handed it to.

"I'm from Doolin," she whispered, batting her lashes. "The Cliffs of Moher are not far from there. If you see them, you will never forget."

"Gern… I vould love to see zem," Dieter breathed.

"This is Mr Heiderfeld," Gellert told her. "Dieter, this is Miss O'Breathnach, the lovely witch you’ve wanted to personally thank all evening."

"Ah, but I’ve already told you it isn't difficult. It is lovely to meet you, Mr Heiderfeld; I hope to see you in Doolin one day, and your friends too."

"And this is Mr Dumbledore," Gellert continued, gesturing towards Albus. "He is the only Englishman out of the three of us, which is why he alone has resisted chatting you up—very afraid of the strict Club policies, you see, but a great sport nonetheless."

The witch laughed. "Nice to meet you, Mr Dumbledore. I do hope you've enjoyed your evening here."

"It is an honour to meet you, Miss," he returned with a playful solemnity, exaggerating his regional accent for her amusement, and also to corroborate Gellert’s words.

"I do hope you will visit Hughes & Zabel again," the girl said, now addressing them all. "On behalf of my patrons, thank you for your custom. Until the next time!"

And as she walked out, they saw a white handkerchief drop from her hand, right onto the green carpet in front of the door. Albus could tell she had dropped it on purpose.

"It's a gift," he commented idly.

Two things happened simultaneously. Gellert lifted an eyebrow, as though inviting Albus onto a private joke before looking in Dieter’s direction. Yet the latter needed no encouragement: he had already Summoned the handkerchief and was pocketing it.

"Was hast du ihr eigentlich gesagt?" he demanded.

"You didn't think I'd forget to drop a word on your behalf, did you?" Gellert shrugged, opting for English so as to not exclude Albus. "Next time, you could try and talk to her yourself, you know. I'm confident she doesn't bite."

Dieter's expression had morphed into one of pleased embarrassment.

"Shall we go?" Gellert inquired, turning towards Albus.

With a nod, the latter got to his feet, but to his mortification, he felt compelled to grasp the back of the sofa to stay steady.

"Don't mind me," he joked. "That lady's beauty has swept me off my feet."

"Oh no," Gellert intoned. "Dieter, I'm afraid you will have to take the flowers and our purchases and go ahead."

Dieter cast them an apologetic look, though it was difficult to tell towards whom exactly it was directed. He disappeared with a quiet pop, and only the two of them now remained. 

"Albus, I am not by any means underestimating your Apparition abilities,” the German wizard declared seriously before cracking a grin, "but you've probably been up since five o'clock, and mead isn’t the best antidote to tiredness. I would be calmer if we Apparated together."

“Thank you. If it's not too much trouble… I’ve had Firewhisky as well, you see," Albus confessed, a little self-conscious but smiling nonetheless.

"That as well? Oh dear… that’s why, isn’t it? I'm afraid Auntie might just forbid me from seeing you again. Our first evening out, and Firewhisky already." Gellert’s smile never faded, though.

It suddenly occurred to Albus that a minute ago, the blond wizard had called him by his name for the first time. He extended his hand and felt himself being pulled closer by a pair of strong and steady arms. Gellert was making sure he would not totter on their way back.

He had the time to cast one last look at the billiard room around them before they were sucked into the airless whirlwind of magic. They landed at the Apparition spot, now dark and completely quiet apart from the hoots of the many owls of the village. He straightened up, finding it rather hard to break the hold of their hands, which the other wizard was not breaking either.

"Thank you, Gellert," he said quietly.

The name felt unusual, beautiful on his lips.

"Good night, Albus," Gellert whispered back. "I'm glad you could come tonight. Truly. Do try to slip in undetected."

There was a feeling about the other wizard as though he intended to say something else, but it was all they could say, really. Caution was now in order lest Albus get into more trouble than he was in already. 

As they parted to go to their respective houses, Albus’s eyes automatically flew to his house, and he had the fleeting impression that a curtain had fallen into place in one of the windows. When he entered, however, everything was quiet. 

 

**AN** : If you look closely, you will notice the chapter is riddled with the beginnings of the small habits and preferences Albus would display later in life. We felt it would be fun to imagine that these are, in a way, the result of certain influences Albus was exposed to. See if you can spot them.

Also, Knockturn Alley isn’t all that bad—I’m sure the scary factor was exaggerated in the earlier movies for comedic purposes. The posh kids such as the Malfoys and the Blacks would not hang out in highly dodgy places filled with foul-smelling hags; they would hang out somewhere classy instead, even if Dark.

Most importantly, though, who was the Muggle murderer notorious in late 19th century? The name is very widely known. Did you recognise the allusion?


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

One day, a small crowd of wizards and witches gathered near the Apparition point of the village. They pointed at the sky and shielded their eyes from the bright sun, peering at the small carriage pulled by two flying horses, which was coming closer and closer. With a whooshing sound, it landed on the pavement, and a middle-aged gentleman, tall and well-dressed, stepped out. He was followed by a pretty lady in a red dress and a matching hat, who was holding a little boy, no older than two years of age. The crowd cheered as the carriage took off again, and the couple smiled and waved at the people before going inside their cottage. Little by little, the assembly dissipated. 

Ariana had been watching from the doorstep, pressed against Albus, whose hands rested protectively on her shoulders. He was familiar with the Potters—they were among the nicest pureblood families he had ever met—and had already received Madam Bagshot’s invitation to a dinner in their presence for that same evening. The witch had slipped a hint in her note that led him to suspect the Potters might offer a favourable answer to his request. Every so often, he glanced towards her house but could catch no sight of Gellert or Dieter. For his part, Aberforth had not even looked up from the goats he was feeding, acting as though he were unaware of the Potters’ arrival. 

The morning after Albus's outing with the German wizards had not been peaceful. After being shaken awake by Ariana from what felt like the deepest sleep of his life, he had been startled to see the clock. He had overslept by more than two hours, and his brother's glower had come as a promise of a heavy retribution for his night of rest. 

"You're right, he's breathing," Ariana had commented lightly.

"I told you," Aberforth had assured her, "Albus was just tired, no need to worry."

He had spoken in such confident and fatherly voice that it would have been difficult to think him angry, but Albus knew him better that that. The show had been for Ariana’s sake, and it had worked, causing her to giggle. 

"Your face is all wrinkly—and you're drooling too," she had pointed out.

Before she could have said much else, Aberforth had sent her downstairs to wait for Dorothy, another neighbour of theirs, who had had a crush on Aberforth for as long as Albus could remember, except Aberforth could not take a hint. 

It had faintly occurred to Albus that while he had easily lied the night before, his brother would constantly lie to Ariana… except when _he_ did it, it was, supposedly, for _Ariana’s own protection_. It was highly ironic to think what a skilful pair of liars they had become. One of their mother’s teachings, and a dubious heritage. 

Once the girl had scurried downstairs, Albus had tried to pull himself into sitting position, knowing he could not go back to sleep, though his languid fatigue and his dull headache had persisted so far. But nearly at once, something had smacked him in the face; it had not been a true slap but a similarly unpleasant sensation. The shirt he had worn the night before had been thrown in his face, and he had caught a whiff of Firewhisky, some of which he must have spilled when it had burned his throat. 

"Explain yourself," Aberforth had demanded then.

This had roused Albus more effectively than anything else. Removing the crumpled fabric from his face, he had quickly evoked the story he had prepared in advance. 

"I ran into Lovegood after my Gringotts meeting," he had said calmly. "We got into a bit of a conversation and decided to have a drink at the Leaky Cauldron.”

His little brother’s reaction had been all but predictable. 

" _A drink at the Leaky Cauldron._ Of course. Great Albus Dumbledore just couldn't hide from his countless admirers, could he now? Great Albus Dumbledore couldn't have been bothered less that his ill sister couldn't fall asleep for worry. Great Albus Dumbledore just needs to waste the last of our money in a pub, showing off to morons that admire him. Well done, Albus, you just achieved a new low: not only are you selfish, but also a hypocrite." And then, laughing humourlessly, "And you have the gall to say you care about us and that you only want an elf to be able to earn money for Ari? You're despicable! Get dressed."

Having let this out, Aberforth had swiftly followed Ari downstairs. Naturally, she was never going to find out about their newest altercation; it had been between the brothers, as it always was. 

Yet for all of these reproaches, Albus felt neither regret nor guilt over his afternoon in Gellert and Dieter's company. In truth, he could not wait to see them at dinner, and his anticipation from before the night of billiard had been nothing compared to the impatience that was gnawing at him now. He had therefore swallowed his feelings of injustice and had gone about his chores as usual, though he longed to tell Aberforth a thing or two. The fact, for instance, that had he ever intended to marry—which, admittedly, he had not—he would have changed his mind after getting a taste of his brother's irrational jealousy. 

At present, watching the Potters' carriage shrink in the cloudless sky, they were approached by two young girls. Those were none other than Ada Catherine Abbott accompanied by her friend Dorothy, who was holding a wrapped up package and blushing in a rather becoming manner. 

"Good morning, Aberforth. We were just hoping to find you. My father killed a turkey yesterday, and we thought you could use a piece of it." 

She handed him what looked like half the cooked bird. Aberforth looked at the package before addressing the girls.

"Thank you, Dorothy, it will make a nice dinner. Albus, Dorothy has brought something for Ari. See, you don't have to go to that stupid dinner now."

Albus had half a mind to explain it would be beyond rude to refuse spending an evening with the people who had promised them help. He knew Aberforth was never going to be impressed by that logic, for the younger boy could stand neither Madam Bagshot nor rich purebloods; as for his opinion on Gellert, he had made it more than clear. Consequently, reasoning with him felt much like reasoning with a wall, and Albus was tired of it. He was going to see his friends that same evening, and he was going to personally thank Bathilda and the Potters for their assistance. That was the end of it. 

To everyone’s surprise, Ariana had giggled at Aberforth’s comment, and the two girls looked up with nods of greeting. 

"Oh, hello, Ariana! You look lovely today. Good morning, Albus." 

After a small exchange of courtesies, they walked away, chattering all the while. 

"Dorothy fancies him," Albus whispered conspiratorially to Ariana, who giggled even louder. 

"What's so funny?" Aberforth frowned.

"Oh, we were just saying you should invite Dorothy for dinner sometime." Albus tugged playfully at Ariana's curl. "Honestly, Aberforth, how many signs does she have to make before you notice?"

"Notice what? Anyway, are you going or not?"

"I promised," Albus said. "The Potters are the nicest neighbours we could have wished for."

Aberforth pouted. "Yes, _nice_ , all chummy with the Blacks these days, or so I've heard. You do know that the rumour is, they are considering a marriage to a Black or a Malfoy? Can't say I'm surprised: arriving here in a carriage, like they're better than everyone else, just because they're swimming in Galleons..."

As if this monologue had not been enough, Aberforth then started bowing and speaking in a mockingly high voice, right there, in the garden, for everyone to see. 

" _Oooh, can I get you something, Mrs Potter? May I please clean your boots, Mr Potter? Would you like some tea, Mrs Potter?_ "

The only good thing to come from this was that Ari was now truly amused, laughing at his antics as though they were the funniest joke. Albus was not so certain neighbours would be as forgiving, but then, most of them were aware of Aberforth's dislike for society. 

"I don't know about those rumours," he objected. "Mr Potter is already married, and Euphrosyne is a Fawley. He can hardly take a second wife, even if she is a Black or a Malfoy." 

Ariana giggled all the more, and he kept his tone purposefully playful. 

"And their son is a bit too young to marry if you ask me. Which is why they flew in a carriage. It's illegal for children to Side-Apparate before they are at least fifteen years of age."

"Will you go, Albus?" Ari asked while Aberforth grimaced at him.

"I will," Albus said, smoothing her hair affectionately. "You see, Madam Bagshot told me in her invite Mrs Potter might have a surprise for us. And if it's what I think it is, then we're getting a little elf. Would you like it, Ari? Having an elfling of your own? They're this small," he demonstrated the size with his hands, "and very sweet. You can play with it and teach it, and it will grow to be your friend and helper."

"My very own elfling?" Ari repeated in awe.

The idea clearly excited her. But when Albus looked at Aberforth, instead of an encouragement, he met a glare, and he could tell his brother was holding it together only for Ari's sake. It would take him a long while to forget about Albus’s transgression. Ariana noticed none of it. 

"My very own elfling? Really, Albus?"

"I'm sure of it," he smiled, ignoring Aberforth's attitude. "If I come home tonight without an elf, Aberforth is formally allowed to stick me in the goat dumps."

"No," Ariana cooed, "you come back with an elfling."

"All right," he promised before putting a kiss on the top of her head. "Come inside." 

He snapped the door shut behind them before his brother could spoil the morning. 

At half past seven, Albus headed out of the house, dressed in his best suit and hat. He hoped he looked less buffoonish than he felt and that Gellert would refrain from smirking too broadly at his attempt to look his part. In his inner pocket, he was carrying a stack of Hogwarts notes for Dieter, and his arms were weighed with flowers: one bouquet for Madam Bagshot and one for Mrs Potter. He knocked and was admitted by a good-tempered Bathilda clad in a pale green gown and jewellery. 

"Good evening, my dear boy," she crooned, chuckling at her present of flowers. "A gentleman if ever I’ve met one. Come in, come in. Let’s greet our guests." 

The Potters were in the parlour, seated in the company of a somewhat nervous Dieter, who, nevertheless, smiled at Albus. Mr Potter looked elegant with his fashionable tie and a small moustache. Mrs Potter would not have been out of place in a London drawing room, what with her flawless attire and her genuine though inconspicuous diamonds. 

"Mr Dumbledore." Silas Potter shook his hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I am sorry for your loss."

Albus thanked him before kissing Mrs Potter's gloved hand. 

"Allow me to express my condolences as well," she said kindly. "We do hope your brother and sister are well. We are so thankful you could join us tonight."

“It is a great honour for me, Mrs Potter.” Albus turned towards the remaining wizard. "How are you, Dieter?"

"I am vell, Albus, zank you. ‘Ow are you?”

It was visible he was afraid of disturbing the party. Madam Bagshot did nothing to make him feel comfortable and ease some of the awkwardness between them. Albus realised at that moment that Gellert was not there to smooth things out. 

"I’m all right. Is Gellert away tonight?" 

Dieter had barely drawn a breath when Madam Bagshot replied for him. 

"Oh, my Gellert isn't feeling well today, I'm afraid. A most frightful migraine. Such a pity too, I was rather hoping to introduce him, Euphrosyne. I don't know what it is with youngsters these days. The strongest and most talented boys happen to have _malaises_ on the most unsuitable days. I swear, we weren't like this in our days of demoiselle-hood."

Mrs Potter joined politely in her laugh, though her husband, who seemed to notice Albus's worry, gave him an encouraging nod. 

"I'm sure he'll be all right in a jiffy." 

Albus smiled back. Thinking quickly how to remedy the situation, he delved into his pocket and produced his notes on History of Magic, which he held out to Dieter. 

"I brought you something." 

"Zese are ze notes on history?" The German boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. 

"Are these from professor Binns’ lessons?" Mr Potter asked.

"The very same," Albus said. "All the notes I have left from History of Magic. Some of the information is duplicated as I used to make revision charts for the O.W.L.’s. You knew Mr Binns when he was alive, did you not, Mr Potter?"

"He used to call me Stephen whenever I raised my hand to excuse myself. Later, I found out a student by that name had attended Hogwarts some fifty years before me. I expect it takes some time for Mr Binns to catch up," the wizard chuckled. "Other than that, he was a very nice wizard; I have only fond memories of him."

"Excuse yourself?" Mrs Potter echoed. "Don't tell me you would fake sickness to play with a Snitch, Silas. Now really."

"Now, now, Euphrosyne, a Potter will become a famous player one day. It runs in our blood."

As they all laughed, Madam Bagshot invited them to table, where they found the first course waiting for them. Albus was seated between Mr Potter and Dieter, but it was Euphrosyne Potter who addressed him first. 

"Bathilda has told us of your predicament, Mr Dumbledore. We are very pleased to be able to help. You see, our good friends, Mr and Mrs Macmillan, have a house-elf couple. I don't believe I've met any other family who does. Have you, Silas?" 

Her husband shook his head, cutting himself a bite of steak. "Me neither, not once. It's true, and this couple had an elfling a few months ago." 

"That's when Bathilda's letter reached us," Euphrosyne continued. "So we hastened to secure this elfling for you before it could be given away. It's very young yet, but at an age when elves come to new homes." 

"There is a delicate balance," Mr Potter nodded. "House-elves get strongly attached, and it's best to take them from their parents before their bond becomes too strong to render any parting unbearable. On the other hand, the baby cannot be separated from its mother in the first few months, it’s much too early."

"We will introduce you shortly," his wife promised. "The little creature has been spooked by the journey and needs time. It will be best if it spends some time near a woman or a girl to be reminded of its mother and put at ease. I would therefore suggest that your sister should be allowed to befriend him before anyone else."

Albus put down his fork, his eyes earnest. "I don't know what to say, Mr and Mrs Potter. When I asked Madam Bagshot for help, I didn't dare hope for an offer so generous. Thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart. Ariana will be beyond happy."

Afterwards, their dinner assumed a lighter tone. Leaving the two witches to their own conversation, Mr Potter leaned over to the boys. 

"Do you play Quidditch, Mr Heiderfeld?"

Dieter shook his head. "I get dizzy vhen I fly too high. Ze air in ze mountains gets very thin, and eet eez difficult for me. But I like ze sport; eet eez very..." He trailed off, muttering under his breath something that sounded like _begeisternd_. Albus wished he could help, but Mr Potter must have understood.

"The best and most exciting game to ever exist—absolutely, Mr Heiderfeld. I've heard you have quite a strong team at school. Now that must be a sight!"

Dieter eased up. "Ja, eet eez spectacular. Falibor Krum 'as to make it to ze nationals. Ze best player in recent years."

"Oh, he absolutely will," Mr Potter said confidently. "If he is so good that your eyes shine at the memory of his matches, he has to. Now didn't I tell you, darling, that these things run in the family? If Mr Krum has children, I am convinced we will hear of more Krums in the future, and they will shape the very art of playing Quidditch."

Mrs Potter rolled her eyes with a fond smile "Oh, Silas, you and your games. Better tell me, Mr Heiderfeld, does Durmstrang still offer classes in Bulgarian, or is it only in German nowadays? I’ve heard rumours of a conflict of interests as far as the teaching languages went. Of course, it was some time ago."

"We 'ave four official teaching languages at ze moment," Dieter said, "German, Bulgarian, Italian, and English. But eet eez moztly German zat ze students choose."

The chatter went on rather enjoyably for a while, though whenever Dieter appeared to become completely at ease, Madam Bagshot found a way of steering the conversation in a different direction. Albus did not feel she was doing it on purpose—not consciously in any case—but he knew she felt no affection for the boy. It was the turn of dessert when an idea occurred to him. He wanted to give Dieter a chance to speak to Mr Potter on his own, and he also wanted to try and see Gellert, even if for a moment. Now was the time: he would not be thought rude for skipping pudding. He looked up, lowering his napkin. 

"Madam Bagshot, I wonder if it would be all right for me to use your Potions corner to whip up a quick brew for Gellert. I know of one that is very effective against migraine."

The older witch appeared surprised but raised no objection. "Oh, that's very kind of you, my boy. By all means, if you wish. it's in the sitting room, at the far right corner." 

With a smile and a quiet _Please excuse me for just a moment_ , Albus strode away in the instructed direction, locating her cauldron and supplies quickly enough. It only took him a quarter of an hour to complete the brew, which he poured into a vial before setting off upstairs. 

Knowing that Gellert’s window faced his own, he found his room without difficulty, hesitating for the space of a few breaths. In the end, however, he knocked and entered. 

He was not sure what manner of sight he had expected to find, but he could see at once Madam Bagshot had not lied. Gellert was in bed, dressed down to his undershirt and facing away. The vial shook slightly in Albus's hand as he looked on in alarm.

"Vergiss es, Dieter, ich bin in gar keinem Zustand um runterzukommen. Sag es einfach meiner Tante weiter, dass es mir immer noch schlecht geht."

"It's me," Albus said quietly. "I'm so sorry... I should have announced myself."

At this, Gellert turned around to face him. A grin made its way to his face, though he was extremely pale and his lips were so dry that such a sudden muscle movement resulted in a crack of the skin, causing a tiny crease of blood to appear on his bottom lip. 

"Is it really so terrible down there that you had to seek refuge up here?"

Seeing that familiar smile somewhat reassured Albus, giving him the confidence to come closer. "The Potters are lovely people," he confessed. "I hope you can meet them soon. But, um... I wanted to check on you, and I've made you a potion. No offense, Gellert, you look like you need it." 

"My compliments on the good retort—serves me right for doubting your Apparition ability the other night, eh?" Gellert jested, but he accepted the potion nonetheless. "Thank you, Albus. And don't worry, it will pass soon, it always does."

This captured Albus's attention. 

"May I?" He pointed at the nearby chair, and when the other wizard nodded, he sat down. "What do you mean? Are these headaches recurrent?"

"Not at all; it’s nothing serious, really. But this _is_ the first time it happened in front of auntie, which makes me rather fearful for my reputation." Gellert laughed. "How is Dieter holding up, by the way?"

"He is all right," Albus assured him, scanning the wizard’s pale face with his gaze, his concern growing. "He and Mr Potter are having a nice conversation on sports. He'll have my history notes to read as well. But Gellert..." He paused, uneasy. "Are these simple headaches? Forgive me if I'm asking too personal a question. It's just, for a wizard like you, a Muggle headache is nothing. Yours must be due to powerful magic. Are you... having trances of some kind?"

Gellert tilted his head. "You know, you are very perceptive, Albus. What made you think of a trance?"

"Only magic could have wrecked you like this," Albus whispered, some of his emotion creeping into his eyes. " _Recurrent_ magic that comes from within your magical core, independent of your will and out of your control. I don’t believe it’s Dark magic of any kind since it would leave traces, numerous traces. Besides, you are not a wizard to dabble in the forbidden Arts. This leaves us with only a handful of options, and I’m familiar with some of them from... my family."

"Your sister?" Gellert asked in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

“Yes.” Albus hesitated, but he trusted Gellert. Trusted him more, perhaps, than he had ever trusted anyone. “She is an Obscurial, you see.”

"An Obs—Albus, what happened to her?"

An Obscurus was a destructive magical force that ought not to appear in children unless they had experienced a severe trauma that had damaged both their magic and their psyches. Gellert knew something terrible must have happened for Albus’s sister to have developed this parasitical force. 

"She was a little girl," Albus recounted, the words tasting strange after years and years of secrecy. "We used to live in a different place back then. She played outside, and as children do, she accidentally produced magic. Muggle boys spotted her and wanted to see more. But she got scared and couldn't do it. They... manhandled her. It got out of hand. When it was over, she was never the same again. My father found those boys; he couldn't accept what they had done. He died in Azkaban a few years later, and... we moved here." He looked up, clearing his throat, which he could feel burning. "I'm sorry, though. I would have done better to lift your spirits rather than lower them."

He was not sure when Gellert's hand appeared on his shoulder, but it was welcome, and Gellert was not taking it away. When Albus looked at him, he was almost shocked to see how much Ariana's story had touched him. The other wizard's blue eyes were different: there was a storm raging just beneath the calm surface. His chin was clenched, and an eerie silence surrounded them for a moment. Then he blinked, as though forcing himself to calm down.

"I am so sorry, Albus," he said. "These things should not happen. To any magical child. Ever."

Albus put his hand on top of Gellert's. His feelings of gratitude and tenderness—yes, he had to admit this—were too much for words, but he still wanted to express them. 

"Thank you. Truly, Gellert, thank you." After a few seconds' pause, he added, "I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it, but... I was right, wasn't I? These aren't ordinary headaches."

Gellert took a deep breath and leaned back against the pillow. When he exhaled once again, his sigh came out a little shaky.

"I think I was about seven when I had a nightmare… I saw a woman. Not clearly at first. But there was a rope around her neck, and her frail body was swinging ever so slightly… It scared me so much, being so vivid, that I woke up screaming and ran to my mother. She soothed me that night and stayed with me until morning because I refused to sleep. In the end, I had to, and the woman didn't return to plague my dreams. For a while, it was all good. A few years went by, and I had all but forgotten about it. But then, one day, I had a headache like today… and the same woman appeared. Only, this time, it wasn’t a dream but a fleeting vision. I just saw her briefly, hanging… I didn't know what it was, or who _she_ was, or if it had happened already or was going to happen, but I recognised her from my childhood dream. The headache would occasionally return. Sometimes it came on its own; sometimes it was accompanied by this horrific vision of _her_. Sometimes the pain became so intense that it rendered me bedridden. I learned to live with it. I would put the vision into the back of my mind and never think of it any more than necessary. But then, after yet another few years, I was returning from school… and something felt different. Something was _wrong_ , as if I were experiencing a bizarre sense of déjà vu, which I _knew_ was impossible. At last, I understood. I saw it clearly for the first time. I ran as fast as I could. But mother—"

His voice broke off, and he fisted the bed sheets so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

"I see fragments, Albus… not the context."

In the few horror-struck seconds that it took for Albus to grasp the full meaning of those words, he found himself on his knees, and his hand grasped Gellert's. He wanted to comfort the young man, to shield and protect him from any harm. He wanted to say a thousand words that would alleviate his plight. For there was no plight comparable to the Sight, and no gift more distressing than that of seeing future in all its disconnected, confusing and nightmarish uncertainty. He was not quite sure how it happened, much less whether Gellert would tolerate anything of the sort, but he briefly pressed his lips against the other wizard's hand. There was no impure intent in the gesture, only respect and compassion and affection. 

Gellert shifted, and it was answer enough. Albus embraced him and was embraced back; their heartbeats seemed momentarily to become one, though time had halted like everything else. Then Gellert pulled away—not abruptly, but the moment was over, and he was manifestly trying to recover his composure. 

"Thank you for the potion, Albus; you have a natural talent," he said. "It is really helpful. Did you manage to get an elf?

Albus took a few breaths to compose himself as well. "I... yes. Mr and Mrs Potter have been able to secure an elfling for Ariana. I bet she won't go to bed until I return, just to see if I bring one. I'm... glad the potion helps."

"It does." Gellert smiled; colour was already returning to his cheeks. "An elfling will do Ariana good, I’m sure; having someone this pure and sweet for a companion might help with her fears, which, in turn, will be beneficial for her health. But you will need to be there for them as well: new elflings need guidance. In fact, I’d like to help you in that regard. May I? Or will your brother throw me out?

Albus smiled. "Of course you can come over. I'll handle Aberforth." 

It was perhaps easier said than done, but he could not, _would_ not refuse Gellert anything. Besides, he had the uncanny feeling Ariana would take well to his friend.

“I'll be happy to get to know Ariana,” Gellert said earnestly. “And even Aberforth... if he doesn't try to kill me."

"I can't promise you that," Albus chuckled. "He tries to kill me at least twice a day."

Gellert sniggered as well, now looking more like his usual self. "You didn't get in trouble the other night, did you?"

"It was worth it," Albus assured him, though he was still grinning. "Truly. It doesn't matter."

"Ah, so you _did_ enjoy that _generally not well-regarded_ Knockturn Alley adventure, did you?" Gellert pointed out teasingly, reminding Albus of his initial hesitation.

It felt comical now. They had done nothing wrong after all.

"Guilty as charged," Albus nodded, mock-resigned. And then, to stretch the joke, he added, "When are we going again?"

Gellert bit his lip. His grin faded a little, as if to indicate that his next question was not meant to be a part of their joke.

"Do you Englishmen celebrate Summer Solstice?"

"Some of us do," Albus mused. "But it’s more of an exception; this festivity never really took root in England. Why, do you celebrate it?"

"Oh, yes." Gellert smiled. "I would even go so far as to say we are rather serious about it. And it so happens that despite my quiet summer in England, I haven't been forgotten. I've received an invite to a certain Summer Solstice Ball. Naturally, Dieter is coming, and I would like you to come as well. It would feel incomplete if one of my closest friends didn’t come along. So what do you say, Albus?"

The other boy looked at him, moved by his words. Gellert truly considered him one of his closest friends. 

"It would be my great pleasure. Thank you, Gellert."

The wizard flashed him a genuinely happy smile, even though his lips remained very dry.

"Perfect. Thank you, Albus; I couldn’t be happier. I do hope you enjoy Mediterranean food, for I dare say we’ll have quite a selection of it at the banquet."

"I'm sure I will enjoy it," Albus breathed, feeling excitement pool into his limbs. He had completely given up the hope of going outside of England in the near future; yet against all expectations, Gellert was now offering him this incredible gift. He could muster no adequate words. "But Gellert, do let me know if you need more potion, or anything else at all."

"I will," the other wizard replied, "But fear not, it has almost passed. The potion has helped."

Albus left his room a few minutes later after saying goodbye and wishing Gellert to get well. He felt so light-headed with emotions that he nearly tripped on his way downstairs, though it only made him laugh. He could not have described his feelings if he had tried, but unlike at their latest outing, he did not even want to. There was a sense of bonding, of affection, of closeness, of compassion, and it all blended into something so harmonious and organic that he had the impression of having gone through a cathartic release. Indeed, when he reached the dining party, who had moved by now into the parlour, it took him a few seconds to arrange his face into a demure social mask. 

He did not fool Madam Bagshot, though. When she spoke, everyone looked up at him. 

"Are you all right, my boy? How is my nephew doing? Is he yet tired of his malaise?" She laughed at her own joke. 

Albus cleared his throat, finding it easier than usual to smile at her. "He is feeling better, Madam Bagshot. Thank you for letting me check on him."

He walked over towards a free spot on the sofa and sat down next to Dieter, who seemed to be genuinely enjoying his conversation with Mr Potter. 

" 'Ow eez Gellert?" the blond boy asked. "Eez he feeling any better?"

"I believe so," Albus admitted, unable to quite suppress the happiness from his voice. "He says the potion has been helpful. I hope it wasn't sheer politeness."

Dieter frowned, having noticed the change in Albus’s mood. 

"Zat eez good," he said. "Mr Potter ‘az been telling me about how hoopz have replaced baskets in Quidditch."

“Ah, yes, It happened only recently,” Mr Potter resumed, “in fact, let me see… year eighty-three, yes. What happened is that—”

The conversation went on, but after a few polite remarks, Albus found himself withdrawing into his own mind, only to react with nods and _hmm_ 's when required to give a response. One worry alone was gnawing on his sense of happiness: the possibility of Gellert having suffered a vision of something frightening and disturbing. But then, he reasoned with himself, the German wizard would not have cheered up this swiftly if this had been the case. And if the vision should come again—though fortunately, it did not happen often, as Gellert had assured him—the potion recipe was on hand. 

The rest of the tea ended on a pleasant note, and when time came to say goodbye, Mrs Potter excused herself to disappear in one of the rooms, only to come back with a small creature in her arms. 

The elfling was tiny; it had round blue eyes, pointy ears and a long nose. It was clutching the witch with endearing trust, its eyes intimidated, as though afraid of the entire world. Which, Albus thought, was likely true. The elfling had only just been separated from its parents. 

"His name is Quaffy," Mrs Potter said, carefully passing the baby to Albus. "Quaffy, this is Albus, your master. He is a very nice wizard who will be taking a good care of you." And then, to the boy, she added, "Like I said, it's best if your sister bonds with him first. The elfling misses his mother."

And so, after copious thanks and as many goodbyes, Albus set off home, the elfling curled nervously in his embrace and almost shivering in its new pillowcase, though the evening was warm. 

As expected, Ariana had not gone to sleep. He had barely closed the front door when she came running towards him.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the little creature, and she extended her arms to take him. 

"Oh, Albus!" she exclaimed. "He is so cute!" 

"Gently," he smiled, handing her the elfling. "He's frightened, he's still a baby. His name is Quaffy."

“Hello Quaffy,” Ariana cooed, now rocking the trembling creature in her arms, “I’m Ari. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you the happiest elfling.”

And she meant it. Even Aberforth, who had joined them, could find no reproach to throw Albus’s way. He finished by sitting down and watching the girl talk lovingly to the elfling, his expression softening so much that it lent his face a more youthful aspect than ever, now that it was devoid of hardness and anger. Albus felt touched at the sight, not only by this transformation but also by his brother’s visible exhaustion. He was, after all, a school boy who had accepted the burden of a grown wizard, renouncing all the pleasures of his age. After a full day of uninterrupted work, he was positively asleep on his feet. Albus put a hand on his shoulder and felt him jolt awake. 

“Go to sleep,” he said gently, “you’re drooling over yourself.”

Bleary-eyed, Aberforth frowned. Usually, it was Ari who said such childish things. Why Albus had said it, Aberforth did not know, but the words felt warm and familiar and reminded him of the time when their parents had still been alive. He simply had no strength to fight Albus that night. Therefore he merely nodded and, wiping at the drool with his sleeve, did as he was told. 

When Albus retired to his room later that evening, he felt quite at peace for the first time. He had put Ariana to bed, and the elfling was to stay with her in her room, both to allow for a closer bonding between them and to offer him a sense of protection. Looking across the street towards the opposite window, which was dark, Albus thought of Gellert’s plight, his loss, the courage with which the wizard had been masking his suffering. 

Had it been him, Albus, he would have never found the strength to get up again and turn his life around. He would never have mustered the effort to smile again. Gellert was special and admirable like no one else, and the fact that he had chosen to share this most personal of secrets meant the world to Albus. Despite his friend’s inner strength, it made him want to protect him from the harshness of the world. 

As his thoughts drifted towards the ball to come, he reflected more than a little guiltily how much better his life had become ever since the German wizard had come along. Friendship, new experiences, kindness: those were all gifts Albus was not sure he even deserved. But far from refusing them, he made a vow: he would do all in his power to bring Gellert as much happiness as he himself had received. 

 

**AN:** Albus is quite smitten with Gellert—are you smitten with him too, dear readers? 

I hope you enjoy the small details about wizarding society—such as the way Quaffy the elfling was essentially traded away.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

_Summer Solstice, 1899_

Albus had always imagined South as a place of heat, of succulent fruits and of turquoise waters. He had expected to see witches and wizards dressed in colourful fabrics and using slightly different techniques of magic. But the first thing he became aware of upon Apparition onto Italian soil was the warm, humid air and the breeze that flew straight from the sea, bringing a sweet scent in its wake. It seemed to be caressing his face. 

He glanced at his two companions, excitement spreading in his limbs. They had arrived to a vast, abandoned plain surrounded by hills, and by the look of it, he could tell it was the perfect place to conceal a large wizarding dwelling. He braced himself for the sensation of passing through magical wards, and sure enough, no sooner had Gellert uttered a foreign-sounding incantation than the air shifted around them with a faint cracking of electricity. Albus felt his jaw slacken. 

He had known all along they were going to visit one Miss Ollivander, a good friend of Gellert’s and the grand-niece of the wandmaker from the Italian family branch. The German wizard had also explained to him that by Durmstrang standards, he and Dieter could not be considered wealthy, which made them an exception rather than the rule. Most students who attended Durmstrang came from influential and rich families, and Miss Ollivander was among the noblest of them. In fact, the majority of wizards and witches on her guest list dwelled in the same social circles, even though most of them had graduated from Beauxbatons. Yet even so, Albus had been unprepared for this level of magnificence. 

They stood upon a long path lined with palm trees and flowers, which led towards a white mansion house. It looked nothing like the English Gothic manors either; it was light, built for a warm climate, and decorated with antique statues at several spots of choice. For a moment, Albus wondered whether those statues were enchanted like the armours at Hogwarts, but his attention was attracted almost at once by the centre of the party: where the palm alley ended, stalls with food and drinks serviced by house-elves were situated under moving colourful lights—tiny lanterns carried, no doubt, by fairies. There were more stalls around the garden, perhaps dedicated to magical games and entertainment, then also a place for a small orchestra, and at the very end, on both sides of the mansion, a plantation of wand-wood trees: the heart of the Ollivander business. 

Taking all of this in, Albus thought of his reluctance to go inside the gentlemen’s club in Knockturn Alley only a few days earlier. The club had been nothing, compared to this estate. And yet, he did not feel the same reluctance this time. True, it was new and unfamiliar and utterly out of his comfort zone, but instead of hesitation, he wanted to thank Gellert for bringing him along. 

He turned towards the German wizard. “Do you believe Mr Ollivander will be present tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” Gellert confessed, though he smiled broadly at his excitement. “We can ask Olivia, our hostess. Here she comes.”

A young witch was walking towards them, her dress rippling in the breeze. She was very beautiful with her thin and neat features, her hazel-green eyes and her chestnut brown hair, which cascaded in waves down her back. By English standards, her attire could be called scandalous, yet it appeared to be thought out to perfection. Her cream-coloured gown ended in mere tree branches, which covered her otherwise bare shoulders. Those branches had to be enchanted: not only true white flowers were growing out of them, but the wood was not stiff—the branches curved around the witch’s form, hugging her and forming a necklace of flowers around her neck. 

More striking than these adornments was the look in her eyes. A smile had lit her features, and her gaze positively glowed as she hastened to close the distance between them. 

"Gellert!" she exclaimed. "Sei venuto. Neanche puoi immaginare quanto sono alleviata!"

The wizard’s smile was no less happy. 

"Non mi l'avrei perduto per niente nel mondo," he replied, opening his arms a little.

It was all the prompting she needed. In a few steps, she reached him and embraced him with something between relief and despair. The gesture was followed by a kiss on both cheeks. 

"Mi mancavi tantissimo," she admitted, her eyes moist with emotion. 

"E tu a me," Gellert whispered back.

For the first time in his life, Albus found himself grateful for the years and years of secrecy and his mother’s inflexible reproaches. Had he not been trained to keep his composure in place at all times, his shock would have reflected on his face. And the truth was, ever since he had met Gellert, he had been concealing less of his emotions with every encounter. He had in fact been _losing_ control over his feelings, and it had felt… right. 

As it was, he focused on breathing steadily. What he had witnessed had to have an explanation. Gellert had told him Miss Ollivander was a friend of his from school. Surely, he would have told him if she happened to be his fiancée. Unless…

Dimly, the sound of his name reached him, and he brought his mind to focus. 

"Olivia, this is Mr Albus Dumbledore," Gellert was saying in presentation. "He is from Godric's Hollow where my great-aunt lives, and he has become a very good friend of mine. Albus, this is Olivia Amaranta Ollivander, the only grand-niece of Mr Gerbeld Octavius Ollivander and a dear friend of mine from Durmstrang."

Olivia gave Albus a smile, and as her demeanour smoothly changed to one expected of her rank and position, he felt as though he were being assessed by those hazel eyes in the same way as he had examined the witch seconds earlier. 

"Mr Dumbledore," she said, switching to perfect English, "how do you do? Welcome to Ollivander Estate." 

This return to formality allowed Albus a chance to recover his footing. He smiled back, and with a small bow, leaned down to kiss her hand. 

"How do you do, Miss Ollivander? It's an honour to be received here. I'm a great admirer of your family."

"That is very kind of you. I do hope you will enjoy your evening with us, Mr Dumbledore." 

She then turned towards Dieter, whom she greeted cordially, though the emotion behind it was different, more relaxed. It was obvious they were fond of each other, as good friends would be.

“Freut mich Dich hier zu sehen, Dieter” she said. “Hätte es mir schon aber auch gedacht, dass ihr beide zusammen seid.”

“Keine große Überraschung, oder?” the shorter German boy uttered in response, his tone light.

At this, the four of them set out towards the patio. Glancing back, Albus realised a house-elf had been stationed at the entrance to receive the guests. They alone had been sought out by the hostess. His feeling of loss intensified, but his mask was firmly in place, and he joined in the small talk with courtesy, his eyes trailing across the garden every now and again. 

The witch was curious to hear about the boys’ journey to England, and Gellert entertained them with a few humorous anecdotes from their train ride, which Albus enjoyed despite his feeling of unease. The conversation naturally progressed towards the English, at which point Olivia addressed Albus, her voice curious. 

“Mr Dumbledore, how did you make Gellert and Dieter’s acquaintance?”

“I am neighbours with Madam Bagshot, Gellert’s great-aunt,” Albus said on a tone that was both light and yet earnest, given the circumstances of their first encounter. “I had the pleasure of meeting our friends the day of their arrival. I was coming from my mother’s funeral, you see. Madam Bagshot was kind enough to ask me to dinner, and this, in turn, led to the best friendship I could have imagined.”

He gave the party a shy smile and was rewarded with smiles of their own. 

“I am very sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences,” Olivia said. At his thanks, she continued, “Is Hogwarts your alma mater then?” 

Whether the pleasant excitement in her question was genuine or a part of her social persona, Albus could not tell, but he was impressed nonetheless. 

“That’s right,” he smiled. 

“I’ve never met anyone from Hogwarts before; apart from my cousin, that is,” she admitted thoughtfully before her expression turned to a smile. “One could almost say you are the most elusive of schools. And yet it is we, the Durmstrang folk, who are considered secretive.”

“And rightly too,” Dieter commented. “Ve don’t even know our own school’s location!”

“We do,” Gellert objected, “but very vaguely so.”

“An old rule,” Olivia explained for Albus’s benefit. “When Nerida founded the school, the times were rather dangerous, so secrecy was vital for wizards’ survival, and while the times have changed for the better, old rules persist. You see, when someone doesn’t know a vital piece of information, it makes it impossible to get it out of them by using torture or mind magic.”

“In ozer words, iff you vander outside of ze vards, you vill zee only znow and znow and znow, nothing else… And zen you vill freeze to death—or maybe animals vill eat you.”

“But it never happens,” Olivia declared while Gellert chuckled. “I am not sure if you’ve already noticed, Mr Dumbledore, but Dieter can be a little dramatic at times…” 

They laughed at this, and Albus hastened to clarify, “The truth is, Miss Ollivander, unlike Durmstrang, Hogwarts is not truly difficult to find. Students mostly travel to school by train, right from London. Yet we rarely get visitors. Some say it’s because of the Giant Squid that lives in the loch beneath our castle.”

A new burst of chuckles followed his statement, just as they arrived to the densest point of the party, where most guests were dwelling. A marble fountain lit with magical lights was glinting at the centre, but its sound was covered by the melody from the enchanted array of musical instruments in the orchestra section. A house-elf was was servicing the nearest stall of drinks, most of which bore tags in several languages. 

“Please help yourselves to refreshments, gentlemen,” Olivia uttered in Albus and Dieter’s direction. “We will join you in a moment.”

She and Gellert disappeared in a throng of guests, and the two boys looked at the stall, then at each other. 

“What would you like to drink?” Albus asked. 

Dieter considered the array of carafes and decanters. “Haff you tried fruit punch?”

It turned out to be an appetising brew, and the two boys positioned themselves at one side of the stall, clutching their glasses. Now that the small talk was over, Albus found himself in need of a few deep breaths. After his first pleasant impression, the air now seemed to him to be too dry. He was not sure whether the drink was going to help him steady his nerve or rather cause him to hyperventilate. Looking up at the German wizard, he asked the question that had been plaguing him ever since they had arrived. 

"Are they engaged? Gellert and Miss Ollivander?"

Dieter glanced over at the couple. A few gulps of punch had turned his cheeks pink, but he seemed to like it. Perhaps he thought it interesting to indulge in a little gossip, for it reinforced a sense of companionship.

"Olivia's parentz would never allow it; she eez ze zole heir of ze Italian branch of ze Ollivander family. Gellert, on ze ozer ‘and—vell, he eez almost impoverished by Durmstrang standards. But even iff he vos not, his family name eez not… vell, not very vell known, zo he eez not a suitable match for an Ollivander."

At that moment, they were approached by another wizard dressed in a silk jacket, and Dieter went quiet at once.

"Un Grand Marnier pour moi, s'il vous plaît," the stranger requested from the house-elf.

He was stocky, his hair brown and curly, his eyes dark. His features would have produced a pleasant effect, had he smiled; but when he spotted Dieter, his smile was not at all of the kind that would be considered amiable.

"Dieter 'Eiderfeld," he drawled, the German name awkward on his tongue, "fancy seeing you 'ere. ’Ave you gotten even shorter sinze we last met?" The wizard proceeded to laugh at his own joke. “Tell me, you are not a glamoured ‘alf-Goblin, hein? I imagine eet would not be out of place at Durmstrang, si? You ‘ave all zorts of beasts zere.”

Dieter's expression soured. "Zis is Archenhaud d'Aubernon from Beauxbatons."

"Enchanté," the stranger said, extending his hand, which Albus shook with a cold smile.

"Zis is Mr Albus Dumbledore from 'Ogwarts," Dieter added.

"'Ogwarts?" Archenhaud’s eyes had gone wide. "Ah non! C’est vrai? Tell me, 'ave our Durmstrang collègues already tried to recruit you for their nefarious Dark rituels? Zey are razer fameux for zose. You can tell me, I'm from Beauxbatons. Vous parlez français?"

"Sadly, no.” Albus thought he would not converse in French with this man even if he knew the language. "In all honesty, my Durmstrang friends make me wish I could bring the Hogwarts education up to scratch."

"Oh, I don't know about zat; if you ask me, zey should first catch up to Beauxbatons. Par exemple, take zis barbaric practice of making people jump off zat deadly cliff—"

"Nobody eez forced!" Dieter barked, his kind face for once scowling in dislike. 

"Mais bien sûr, eazy for you to say after Gellert bent ze rulez for you. Where eez your _petit ami_ anyway? Zere eez no way you ‘ave been granted an invitation on your own mérite."

"You couldn’t be more wrong, Archenhaud," a witch's voice rang out, and Albus saw Olivia and Gellert slide into their little circle. "I invited Dieter personally; he is a good friend of mine, and a very impressive team member to have if we are to play Wizard’s Chess. Speaking of which, don't spoil the mood with this nonsensical rivalry. This is exactly the reason they cancelled the Triwizard Tournament, you know."

"And hello to you too, Archenhaud," Gellert's voice intervened. "Pardon me, but isn’t this the second time you have opted for the expression _petit ami_ in regard to my persona? I don’t claim to be fluent in French, but the connotation of the term leaves me rather perplexed. All I’m saying is, it had to happen sooner or later... Why else would you be so desperate for my company?”

The French wizard opened his mouth, but Gellert overrode him. 

“No, no, that is absolutely fine—if anything, I’m flattered. Still, go easy on the drinks; they seem to affect you like the Babbling Beverage. Who knows what else you might end up confessing by the end of the ball?"

For a moment, it looked as though the French wizard would throw his drink in Gellert’s face for such insinuations. To his credit, he managed to muster something that resembled a broad and benevolent smile.

"Gellert, zere you are! What a pleasure. Dizrespectful, obnoxious, self-centered and utterly unbearable comme toujours, hein? Still, I 'ope to zee you in Paris soon; everybody zeems to sink you disappeared, you see, and ze parties are not ze same wizout you."

"Don't you worry, Archenhaud, I will be back; I’ve other priorities for now. Dieter and I are discovering new places this summer. Have you met Albus? Have the two of you been introduced already?"

"Yes, it’s been a pleasure." Albus could not help feeling amused at the Frenchman’s hypocrisy. Compared to this bickering, the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin now seemed to him as intimidating as a squaffle on children's playground. 

As if on cue, Gellert addressed him next. 

"So, has dear Archenhaud already offered you an alliance? You know, to take us down, the evil wizards of Durmstrang, who are obsessed with ruling the world. Hogwarts and Beauxbatons forever united against the savages from the most notorious wizarding school in Europe?"

“Bon, merely a courtesy: our ‘Ogwarts collègue ‘az to know not everybody eez so—”

“Archenhaud,” Olivia interrupted, “you are, of course, aware that Durmstrang is my alma mater too?”

“Bien sûr, Olivia, I never mean to insinuate anyzing against you; but you could ‘ave very well gone to Beauxbatons too, non?”

“Well, boys, I’m sure you want to catch up, but I’m afraid I have obligations towards Mr Dumbledore—if there is anyone who doesn’t deserve to witness your wand-measuring contest, it is him. Come, Mr Dumbledore, I will show you the rest of the premises.”

She graciously beckoned for Albus to come closer, which he did with an apologetic nod towards his friends. The two of them set off towards the enclosure of wand-wood trees, where the air positively crackled with magic. 

"Your gardens are magnificent," he said to her. "If magic ever was used to achieve beauty, your family has achieved perfection."

"Thank you, Mr Dumbledore; my parents will be delighted to hear it. Is this your first visit to Italy?'

"It is. I have never really been outside of Britain."

Unlike the rest of the garden, the wand-wood enclosure was not illuminated. Albus knew this was due to the magical creatures who lived in the trees. And no sooner had this thought passed his mind that they spotted a tiny twig-like creature slip from a pear tree and scuttle away on three spindly legs. 

“A Bowtruckle,” he smiled. 

“Yes,” Olivia said, following it with her eyes. “They are very loyal, though earning their devotion is easier said than done.”

They walked a little further, where they could see a greater variety of vegetation. From his position, Albus could distinguish a hazel tree, a yew, a pine, a willow and an elder. He wondered what magic Mr Ollivander resorted to in order to make the different parts of the soil suitable for this diversity. 

"I do you hope you like it—you really should stay for a longer period of time,” Olivia went on. “I love Durmstrang, though not the cold. It is always a nice change to come back home after the end of the term. Or at least it has been until this year." She smiled. "I am merely referring to the fact that school is now over and there are new challenges ahead. I take it, it’s the same for you?"

"That's right," he said with a quiet, regretful sigh. "I'm waiting for my graduation paper. It have been busy and enjoyable seven years, but real life has started."

"May I ask what it is you intend to do? I hope you won't think me too forward; I am genuinely curious."

"I will have to find a situation to support my family," he admitted. "What about you, Miss Ollivander? Will you be staying at this estate, or perhaps travelling?"

"I must do what my family name and my blood demands of me. You see, it only seems attractive from afar, Mr Dumbledore, but to carry the name, to carry the blood status… it rather robs one of any freedom one might have enjoyed. We, purebloods, live in golden cages and serve our lineage the way our forefathers would have wanted us to..." She sighed while they made a turn to head in the opposite direction. "I don't mean to insinuate you have it any easier. From what you are telling me, employment is a necessity for you just as much as it is a duty. I take it, looking for an occupation is what you will do after the summer holidays?"

"Yes, that's right." His eyes wandered absently over a meadow lit with floating lanterns and decorated with more fairy lights. Numerous wizards and witches, bedecked in silk, stood there chattering in small groups with drinks in hand. "My brother will go back to Hogwarts, and my sister... I will find daycare for her while I'm at my employment. It will work out." He looked up and smiled, as if to lighten the conversation. "If I may be so bold, what do you like most about Durmstrang?"

"Oh, where to start? Even the non-magical aspects of it are breathtaking—the aurora borealis; the snow as it twinkles like thousands and thousands of tiny precious diamonds; the classes are most engaging… well, except for the mandatory duelling practice, perhaps. But most importantly, the people. Durmstrang is where I met Gellert—and oh, how I disliked him at first! You saw him back there with Archie: when these boys get together, it is all about measuring their wands. Not that witches at Durmstrang are any better. It is really difficult to put it all into words. I am not sure how much Gellert has already told you, but from my side, I can admit it’s been quite a journey. He is an extraordinary person. At first, I couldn’t understand what made him stand out in the first place—which is difficult to achieve at Durmstrang, believe me. To my shame, at first glance, I found myself rather agreeing with Archie. A little too self-important a wizard, I had thought; never serious about anything. But then I got to know him better, and I saw a different side to him. He is one of those rare people who don't leave anyone indifferent; he is either loved or hated, and it is a heavy burden to carry. And so I promised myself to always be there for him and protect him. Except who can do that?" There was another sigh. "I am sorry, Mr Dumbledore, I got carried away. I take it the two of you have become good friends, seeing that he’s invited you to meet the rest of us? Will you stay in correspondence?"

Albus could not fail to realise that she had opened herself up, and he appreciated it. But he would lie to himself if he pretended her speech had not irked him, bringing feelings he was ashamed to acknowledge out of the depths of his chest. Jealousy was an ugly, selfish reaction, and at that instant, he was filled with it. It occurred to him no English lady would have allowed herself such a sentimental attitude. Simultaneously, the very thought made him want to condemn himself for being a heartless hypocrite. In part, he felt as though she had no right to her feelings for Gellert, yet he understood exactly what she had just tried to express. 

"I believe so," he uttered, forcing both his voice and his facial expression under control. "And for what it's worth, Miss Ollivander, I can tell: your friendship and protection mean the world to him."

The witch looked at him curiously. "Thank you, Mr Dumbledore. I think it is best for us to return to the party soon, but whenever you feel like exploring the gardens, please let me know. The family elves might, in fact, know a lot more about these trees than I do, but I will do my best to entertain you while you are here."

"Thank you very much," he said with a small bow, letting her lead him back towards their friends. "I will not fail to do so." 

He could feel his composure slipping, though, and upon reaching the stall full of drinks, where they had left the German wizards, he could not help but request a glass of water. He was not sure what had come over him, except it was much stronger than his confused, hot-blooded emotions from the billiard night. He was feeling sorry for Olivia. She had to sacrifice love for duty. But there was something else: he was hurting. The reason behind it, he dared not formulate even to himself. There was fear in him, a nagging fear that for all the social inequalities, Gellert was certainly not indifferent towards the Italian witch—why else had he greeted her so warmly? The very notion caused his insides to clench in distress. He _had_ to calm himself.

Realising he was close to smashing his now empty glass, Albus took a few deep breaths and put it down. The boys were speaking of touring the rest of the stalls, and he joined them gratefully, his eyes resolutely on the entertainment. 

They walked past the orchestra formed of the instruments that played on their own, then a stall full of finger food, and then they reached a group of people gathered around a large book on a pedestal. Magical silhouettes erupted from it at regular intervals, forming images from light and smoke, and the guests seemed to be trying to guess what those represented. The tag on the pedestal read _La Storia mondiale della magia_. 

There was a short silence as two figures materialised, one small and Goblin-like, the other large and trollish, both of them armed.

"The battle of Creusot, 1658," Albus said into the thoughtful silence.

The image dissipated, now forming a swarm of fairies around a wizard holding a scroll. Several people spoke up, mostly in Italian. Albus knew the name in English alone. "The second meeting of magical creatures before the publication of the Statute of Secrecy."

The image exploded in a puff of black and purple smoke, and then it took the shape of a tall, skeletal figure, surrounded by three smaller, human ones.

Albus turned towards Gellert.

"This might be of interest: the Deathly Hallows. Did you know they are historically connected to Godric's Hollow?"

"Let's play," Gellert decided. "Dieter?"

"I vant to be on ze team with Albus," the latter declared.

It could have been Albus's impression, but he could have sworn Gellert had just given him an impressed sort of look. A little mystified by the fact that his friend had not reacted to his comment but excited about the game nonetheless, Albus took his place near Dieter, as directed. Olivia briefly addressed the crowd, who rearranged at her instructions. Several people joined them, including, to Albus's disbelief, the Frenchman. They now formed three teams, each counting five people, and as the team lead, Albus found himself opposing Achenhaud and a fierce-looking girl.

It could be the time he had spent in Gryffindor or the fact that he used to be the top of his class, but he felt old competitiveness resurge in his veins. A few rounds later, their team was in the lead, and it was almost amusing to see the Frenchman's frustration. The game lasted for half an hour, ending with the victory of Albus’s team, the members of which were handed decorative statuettes of the muse Clio as a reward. As the smoke around the book cleared and died down, the crowd dispersed.

Dieter was ecstatic. 

"Ve haff won!" he exclaimed, looking at Albus with frank admiration. "I am already 'af-way wiz your notes, but zeeing you answer everything is zo... I 'ave no words. Vot eez your zecret for memorizing everyzing?"

It was then that Archenhaud d'Aubernon decided to chime in again.

"I 'ave to agree with our German friend for onze—you are great competition, Mr Dumbledore. 'Ave you met Madolen and Ourson? Zey are from Beauxbatons too, I can introduze you."

Madolen and Ourson turned out to be two onlookers who had been watching the game. Gellert had momentarily left to check the evening program. There was dinner planned before the ball began. 

"Oh," Albus said, slightly red-faced from excitement, "how do you do? A pleasure." He shook hands with Ourson, a handsome and carefully groomed young man, who seemed proud of his slightly lighter accent, and kissed Madolen's hand. She seemed a little more aloof, though she laughed at her companion's jokes almost too readily.

"Are you penfriends?" she inquired, assessing Albus and Dieter in one sweeping glance.

"No," Albus said politely. 

"Doesn't Hogwarts organise letter exchanges with the other schools?" Ourson asked eagerly, as if hoping for a pretext to share his own experience. Sure enough, "We have had a long time partnership with the Russian school. It's been very instructive. Back when..."

He launched into a rather long-winded story involving a trip to Russia. Once he was done, Archenhaud clarified: 

"Zey are Gellert's amis."

"Ah bon," the girl uttered, and while her face remained as blank as her companion’s, Albus could feel their minds working, as though surprised to meet a Hogwarts student who preferred the Durmstrang crowd.

Gellert chose that moment to reemerge. "My apologies for taking so long, but I'm happy to announce dinner is being served and that we have some bouillabaisse on the menu."

"Gellert, and ‘ere I already zought you were gone for ze night,” Archenhaud commented. “You've been disappearing a lot lately, non?"

"Well, it would be terribly rude of me to leave my friends all by themselves. Besides, I was just about to introduce them to the rest of our Nordic crowd before you can woo them away."

"Zo you admit I am a sreat?" The Frenchman sounded self-satisfied.

"Archenhaud, you won't believe it, but I am trembling right now," Gellert said seriously. "Good evening, Ourson. Won't you introduce me to the lovely lady?"

Madolen giggled a little. "Zo you are ze fameux Gellert Grindelwald. You are more ‘andsome zan Archenhaud described."

The two French wizards gaped at her, bewildered. Gellert, however, clearly knew how to speak their language.

"Did Archenhaud tell you I was a scary monster covered in warts?"

"More or less,” the girl admitted, “but I zee it eez not ze case. Enchantée. I am Madolen Agard. It eez my first time ‘ere; Ourson invited me. It is not every day ze daughter of an archive keeper at le ministère is invited to an Ollivander Ball, zo I am very 'appy to be ‘ere."

Gellert kissed her hand. "I am very pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Agard. Please don't believe everything Archenhaud tells you—rivalry can be blinding. Not to mention that the gentlemen here seem to be constantly forgetting Miss Ollivander—our hostess—attended Durmstrang as well."

"Yes, but she is Italian, and a noble lady," Archenhaud said automatically. "You are... ah... infamous."

"Yes, right you are," Gellert declared. "I am an infamous monster. I have infamously become the bane of your existence, from what I see; my close friend Dieter here has infamously won nearly all the chess tournaments he could participate in, which proves to be a little hard to digest, given your overly competitive nature; and my dearest friend Albus has infamously beaten you right now—just when you thought you were going to win this round."

Archenhaud's eyebrows knit together. The battle was over, and Gellert had won it; everyone could feel it. Dieter exchanged a look with Albus, as if to see if the latter was pleased as well. Gellert clearly possessed the talent of shutting people up when he wanted to.

"Touché," Archenhaud muttered, for even his French friends appeared to have taken Gellert's side.

"Shall we go to the table?" Gellert proposed, addressing them all.

Somewhat numb, Albus followed him, both impressed by his skill at handling people of all backgrounds and opinions and more than a little floored by the fact that Gellert had just publicly called him his dearest friend. He could hardly believe it; but it was a blissful feeling, one that made him feel ready to endure just anything.

The table was very long, covered in succulent dishes and decorated with fruits and flowers. Albus found his name tag between those of Dieter and of a girl named Geneviève Huisson, whom he assumed to be another Beauxbatons student. He was not surprised to see Gellert had been seated a little further away, next to the hostess. Miss Huisson shortly came to claim her seat, a Beauxbatons rings prominent indeed on her finger. She was a part-Veela. Glancing uneasily at Dieter, whom he suspected to dislike the Veela due to something that had taken place at school, Albus thought the other boy had momentarily gulped: his eyes were fixed on his plate and the cutlery was firm in his hands, as though he were poised for a battle. 

"Good evening," Miss Huisson smiled, offering her hand for Albus to kiss. There was a trace of Italian in her pronunciation. 

"Good evening. My name is—"

"Albus Dumbledore, the history expert, I know," she chuckled, revealing pearl-like teeth. "And you friend is…"

"Dieter Heiderfeld," Albus said, leaning back so that they could greet each other.

"Enchanté," Dieter muttered clearly enough, though he seemed to take a great care not to look at the girl for too long, as if afraid she could turn him into stone.

In truth, Miss Huisson appeared to be much more cordial than any of Archenhaud’s friends, but before they could exchange more than a few pleasantries, Olivia requested her guests’ attention to thank them for attending her ball and offer a toast to friendship and knowledge. She also announced their next game: a debate on which spell could be considered most influential through the ages. A murmur rose around the table, and Albus saw Archenhaud square his shoulders in a combat position. Suppressing a grin, he glanced at Dieter, who was eating rather quietly. 

"Looking forward to the dancing?" he whispered. 

Dieter met his gaze. It occurred to Albus that they had reached a point in their friendship where they had truly started to trust each other. With one swift look at Miss Huisson, Dieter made sure they were not being listened to. 

"I… I don't dance good," he whispered with a sigh. "Eet eez just… um… I'm short. Not like you and Gellert. 'Ow do I know iff my hand eez… not too low? What iff eet eez?"

Albus contemplated this as he took a bite from his plate. It was a question that had never occurred to him. 

"I don't dance well either," he admitted in a whisper. "It must have been easier when ladies still wore bustle dresses—those must have held one’s hand in place. But when the skirt is flat... I suppose it's safest to keep it a little higher. But you know, you are not _that_ short either." 

At that moment, Achenhaud's voice called his name, and he whipped about, caught off guard and slightly irritated. 

"What do you zink, Monsieur Dumbledore? Would the Shield Charm count as one of the most influential spells in ‘istory?"

Albus’s first impulse was to sigh wearily, but he made the effort to arrange his face into a pleasant expression. 

"If we look at the history of spellwork, we notice that witches and wizards were very self-sufficient as far as their magic was concerned until about the end of 17th century, which is when the International Statute of Secrecy was established. Suddenly, a myriad of new spells were invented and the old ones were put to trial. I say the most influential spells are the ones that endure no matter what happens. They are the ones we'll keep coming back to when in need, and no political or societal change can eradicate them. By that, of course, I mean the very important Tickling Charm. Our society would have never endured without the Tickling Charm."

There was laughter at his reply, and the part-Veela rewarded him with a smile. So did Dieter.

"Nice," he complimented while the Frenchman's face turned from puzzlement to offense.

Gellert was equally pleased: he lifted his wine glass and tipped it, adding a wink to his smile. Albus grinned back, grateful for his appreciation. As Ourson's voice cut in with a firm “Now all jokes aside, I believe there is a great potential in Concealment Spells, especially now that the Muggle society has become more industrialsed than ever," he turned back towards Dieter, who still looked amused.

"It's his own fault," Albus whispered, referring to Archenhaud. "He shouldn't have interrupted a perfectly good private conversation. Are you thinking of going to Ireland?"

"I vant to but," Dieter sighed, "I don't know if I can... For ‘ow long we stay at Madam Bagshot's..."

At this, both their gazes wandered to Gellert, who now appeared to be intently eyeing something else. Someone else: their hostess, Olivia Ollivander. And she looked right back at him as though there were no one else in the entire garden, only the two of them.

Albus's good mood slid off him as did the smile off his face. Dieter's words had just produced a twinge in his chest at the idea that he and Gellert might be leaving the village soon; and as if this were not enough, the look the latter had just exchanged with the young witch seemed to burn Albus’s insides like the light of a deadly spell. 

He looked back at his plate, forcing his mouth to chew the food that he no longer found appetising. In all justice, he had no right to judge or even dislike Miss Ollivander. One did not choose whom one loved, and he was the last person who could blame her for choosing to bestow her affections on Gellert, who happened to be the most magnetic person Albus had ever met. Besides, he already knew duty forbade her from fulfilling her heart’s desire, and she did not deserve the pain. By all means, she was as clever and kind as she was beautiful, Albus could see no evidence to the contrary. She deserved to be met with compassion. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. 

He was not sure for how long he had stayed plunged in thought, avoiding everyone’s eye. It was the voice of his neighbour, Miss Huisson, that interrupted his reflection. 

"Would you like to dance?" she asked. 

He hastily wiped his lips with a napkin, struggling to regain control of himself. "Certainly, I will be honoured." He glanced at Dieter. "Are you going to be all right?"

The other boy nodded nervously. "Um..."

Two Italian witches caught his eye. He turned questioningly towards Albus, hoping for a tip. Hyperventilating, Albus addressed Geneviève. His mind was so full of emotion that for the life of him, he could think of no suggestion to offer his friend. 

"Mademoiselle Huisson, before we start to dance, would it be all right to introduce my friend to these ladies? Where I am from, it is considered unacceptable to approach a lady without first being introduced by a mutual friend."

With a gentle smile, Geneviève ushered the two of them towards the Italian witches. The introductions dealt with, Albus led his partner to the dance floor, trusting Dieter to feel more at ease in the ladies’ company. The enchanted orchestra was playing a waltz, which meant he needed to focus on his steps and direction, thus reining in his mind. In effect, it turned out to be his salvation. A feeling of blissful, light-headed euphoria crept into his thoughts half-way through the dance, comforting his inner turmoil, and were it not for his intent focus, he would have been caught unaware. 

Sobering up immediately, he erected a mental barrier, which shut out the intrusion the same way as it would have done with a Legilimency attack. His eyes met the girl's clear blue ones, and after a few seconds, he smiled apologetically. 

Her expression, perhaps a tad disappointed, morphed into one of understanding. 

"Maybe I could write to you," she said quietly as the music came to a stop. 

"I would like that," he assured her, and with one last kiss on her hand, he released her. 

Dieter was still holding one of the witches in his arms, but there was no sight of Gellert. The same swooping, weak sensation in his legs was returning to Albus. He _had_ to know.

Keeping his steps quick so that no one else could accost him, he walked out of the dance area and into the shadows. There, he hesitated before taking out his wand and applying a Disillusionment Charm to himself. He knew it could be considered—no, it _was_ for sure—wrong of him and that he had no right to sneak about, let alone stalk anyone. And yet, he had to know, no matter how painful. He looked around the illuminated grounds before stepping into the deeper part of the garden and towards the wand wood trees, where he could spot no other guests.

It was the young witch's voice that claimed his attention. 

"Quel strego inglese—perché l’hai portato qui stasera?"

Albus's heart beat wildly. He wished he could understand all the spoken words. It was frustrating, for he could only rely on the speakers’ tones to distinguish their intentions. Olivia had mentioned him; she had said "strego inglese", and he was the only English wizard present at the party. Could it be that she felt the same way about him as he did about her, seeing him as an… intruder? Or was he flattering himself? Almost at once, Gellert's voice brought a response.

"’E’ proprio come lui ha detto, ci siamo conosciuti nel villaggio di mia zia Bathilda. E' una persona straordinaria… L'ammiro molto."

Grasping at the trunk of a lean tree to keep himself upright, Albus fought to ease the tension from his body. He thought he recognised the words "villaggio", "persona straordinaria" and "ammiro," as well as the name of Gellert's great-aunt. Unless he was mistaken, those words carried a favourable meaning. 

There was silence. He expected Gellert to say something else, but instead, Olivia spoke again, her tone sceptical. "Neanche lo conosci così tanto."

"Lo conosco già abbastanza per sapere che non mi sbaglio."

His fists unclenched from around the tree trunk. He stared into the distance, barely daring to believe what he thought he had just understood. 

"Gellert, io ti amo, sempre ti ho amato; lo sai, vero?"

There was a shift, and Albus _knew_ Gellert had come closer to her. He had to take a look, move just a little so that he could see. And indeed, they stood intimately close to each other, unaware of his presence.

"Anch'io ti amo," Gellert said. "Perciò non possiamo vederci più. Olivia, entrambi sappiamo che Archenhaud ha ragione: è molto pericoloso per te essere vicino a me."

But whatever his monologue had been about, she was not listening. "Non m'importa—"

"A me sì," Gellert insisted. 

There was something about his voice that suggested his word was final. Then he sighed.

"Haben sie mich schon gesucht?" he asked.

Olivia nodded. She appeared to be fighting tears.

"Glaubst du mir, dass ich damit nichts zu tun habe?"

Their eyes met once again. 

"Mi hanno fatto un sacco di domande,” the witch was saying, her words now coming out in a more rapid succession, making it impossible for Albus to follow, “ovvio che non abbia detto niente, ma non so cosa pensare, Gellert. Volevo che tu me lo dicessi—come mai? Com’è successo?"

Gellert sighed, her concern causing him to become visibly afflicted. It was a sort of look Albus had never before seen dominate his features. 

“E’ stato un incidente,” he said finally.

There was more silence, and Olivia embraced him.

“Quindi sei stato tu,” she mused. “E perchè hai provato di mentire qualche minuto fa?”

“Non dovevo averlo fatto, scusa. È che… è molto difficile per me. Non volevo farlo, ma adesso non c’è nessun modo di cambiare quello che sia già successo,” Gellert confessed. “Comunque, non ho potuto mancare stasera, volevo vederti…”

They looked each other in the eye for what felt like ages. And then he kissed her, as one would kiss a lady one harboured a deep affection for. 

Albus suddenly felt as though he had seen and heard too much, not unlike an intruder. Thankful for his Disillusionment Charm, he put his remaining energy into stealing away as quietly as he could until he was quite alone in a deserted spot between palm trees. There, he leaned against the enclosure, his eyes roaming over the distant patio, though for some reason, all he could see were blurry lights. He could not take it any more. The pain in his chest was such that he wanted to burrow into the cool ground and stay there, undisturbed, unseen, for the whole night. With what remained of his concentration, he turned on the spot and Disapparated. 

The cool, familiar air of his village enveloped him, and he saw the streets stretch before him in the different directions of the Apparition point, the houses sharp-roofed and sloped in the dark. But he could not face going home just yet. At the end of all rationality, he collapsed onto the nearest bench and lowered his face in his hands.

It hurt, it hurt oh so much, but there was no shying away from the truth any more. He was in love with Gellert, he needed him, he wanted him. He wished he had been the one exchanging those looks of longing with him. 

There was a name for men like him. Many names, actually. One more degrading than the last. 

Perhaps one of the reasons he had plunged himself into his studies with so much assiduity was that no one would expect a busy academic man to think of marriage and women. 

But that did not matter, for his life had been changed the day Gellert had appeared on his street, and there was no way back.

 _My dearest friend Albus_ , he had called him publicly. What more did Albus have the right to expect? It was the highest honour a friend could receive. And yet, he wanted so much more. 

For a moment, it had seemed to him... But he had no right. It was no fault of Gellert's that he was a twisted man. 

He sat back on the bench, letting the cool wind, so different from the Italian breeze, blow his tears away. His Disillusionment Charm had slipped away. It did not matter. There would be time to figure out how to live on. For now, he was alone, as always. 

"Albus?" It was Gellert's voice.

Albus had missed the characteristic _pop_ of Apparition, so lost he had been in his own torment.

"What's wrong?" The other wizard appeared to be genuinely concerned. "You disappeared so suddenly, we were worried. Did someone behave disrespectfully?"

There was another _pop_ , and this time, Albus heard it. It was a little more distant and had to be Dieter’s.

Startled, he straightened up on the bench, hoping the wind had blown away all the moisture from his face. 

"No... No, nothing happened. I just... I needed a moment alone."

"Something happened," Gellert insisted. "Tell me. Please. I was the one who invited you."

"You haven't done anything wrong," Albus said, putting more than a little effort into keeping his voice steady. "No one has. It's no one's fault that..." He paused and then exhaled. "You should go back. You will be missed."

Gellert shook his head. "I already said my goodbyes. Let's better have a walk."

Albus looked up at him. How easy or difficult was Gellert finding a life in which not a single person he met could stay indifferent towards him? Love or hatred, it always was one of the two he inspired in people, yet never indifference. Did this make him suffer? 

"Gellert, there is no solution to my problem," Albus said, his voice steadier now. "I just have to live with it."

"Albus, you are scaring me right now," Gellert said earnestly. "Please, tell me. What is it?"

Now a feeling of incredulity was trickling into Albus's wild mind. Was the other wizard serious? Could he not tell? After everything—after the night of billiard, after the genuine declarations in his bedroom, could he still not pick up on the hints? 

He stood up, not sure whether he wanted to stalk off home or walk away in the opposite direction altogether. For a second, he wanted to do both and nearly stumbled. Gellert's hand shot out to steady him, and at this touch, Albus met his eyes. He did not know what he was doing any more. His hands, however, closed in the other boy's hair, and he felt his lips press themselves against Gellert's, out of control, his breath not his own any more. 

"Do you understand now?" he whispered, his voice heaving with a thousand emotions. “You infamous monster.”

 

 **AN:** Finally, the chapter I am, admittedly, most nervous about. Albus can no longer deny his feelings, which are certainly not platonic. Please don’t hesitate to leave your comments, dear readers. 

A little side-note about the other languages used in replicas: if you don’t understand some of them, don’t worry about it; they are left without translation deliberately, seeing how the main focus is on Albus and everything has been interpreted from his point of view. If however, you understand every word and if (God forbid!) I’ve made some utterly ridiculous typo, please let me know—I shall correct it, and we’ll pretend the blunder never happened (nella mia difesa non è niente facile cambiare la tastiera tra italiano, tedesco ed inglese tutto il tempo—und dasselbe gilt auch für Deutsch, obwohl ich öfters diese Sprache benutze, ist es trotzdem sehr einfach etwas falsch zu schreiben ohne das zu merken). Special thanks to Tarpeia for the little French bits; that accent is tricky for me to transcribe otherwise.


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

Dieter's heart was still hammering from his quick search across Ollivander Estate when he Apparated to Godric's Hollow. Albus's disappearance had caught him unaware, and Gellert had been no wiser until a glance at one of the disturbed nooks in the shrubbery had told him all he needed to know. They had Disapparated then, one after the other, with a hasty goodbye to Olivia, whom neither of them was certain to see again any time soon. Dieter's feet hit the ground just in time to spot Gellert talking to a visibly distressed Albus, who seemed to have collapsed on a bench. Alarmed, Dieter hurried forward, wondering who could have upset the English wizard; he already half-suspected it had been Miss Huisson, whose Veela allure could have caused Albus a humiliation during their dance. But then his eyes met a much more shocking sight, which effectively glued his feet to the ground. Albus had sprung to his feet, his expression wild, and he had pulled Gellert into a desperate kiss.

Dieter's practiced hand acted before his mind was even done processing what he was seeing. It had become this way through the course of endless duelling practices at school, which had taught his body to react to any sign of threat as a matter of reflex. Right now, the threat of his friends being seen was too great. With a flick of his wand, thick fog unfolded around them, spreading through the streets in nebulous waves and covering everything from view. He himself could now only distinguish the blurry lights of the lamps and the shapeless outlines of the houses, and it was quite enough.

This development did not please him in the slightest, though as the shock slowly started to subside, he realised he was not truly surprised. The most prominent among his emotions was exasperation, and a large part of it was directed against himself. The signs had been there since their very first dinner with Albus, and he had already seen them in so many other people that misreading them yet again felt unforgivable. What he had taken for Albus's enjoyment of music appeared to have been his admiration of Gellert. What he had assumed to be English reticence towards their hostess in the club had been internal conflict. What he had mistaken for benign curiosity at the ball had been jealousy and alarm. And now, partly due to Dieter's slow wits, Albus had become another victim of Gellert's charm, not even suspecting what it entailed.

If someone did not deserve to go through such heartbreak, it was that poor English boy. He still was innocent and inexperienced, Dieter was certain of it. Moreover, he had a family to support and a future to build for himself. Opening his heart to a Dark wizard was likely to leave him broken with no one to pick up the pieces once summer was over and Gellert was gone from England. Not to mention Albus did not have the faintest idea of what Gellert was truly like. He had fallen for the charming façade, but he had never seen Gellert within the walls of Durmstrang to fully understand.

In all honesty, Dieter often felt he did not understand Gellert any better despite having known him for seven years. Gellert was a fascinating and contradictory wizard, and for once, this was not a compliment.

Their first year at Durmstrang stood out clearly in Dieter's memory—so much so that it was difficult to believe how long ago it had been. Everything had been so much simpler then, even with the many strong impressions the Nordic school had produced on his eleven-year-old shy mind. He had never been outside of Bremen before; indeed, it had not even crossed his mind that he would end up studying far away from home, in a school of such renown. His parents had not been rich, and the prospect of being home-schooled had been the best he could hope for, but he had not minded. He liked it there, in their modest but cosy house magically concealed in a bustling Muggle street. He enjoyed reading at the window, from which he could observe Muggle men and women hurrying back and forth in a variety of clothing wizards had never even thought of adopting. He loved playing chess with his father or listening to his mother playing the flute. He did not wonder all that much what the outside world was like, for books held more knowledge than one could hope to absorb in a lifetime. But then, against all odds, their family was granted an unexpected amount of gold, and his father's desire to see him gain solid education and make friends could be fulfilled.

The wizard sent by Durmstrang to ascertain his magical skill found him satisfactory—not exceedingly powerful nor extraordinary in any sense, but good enough to deserve a chance at proving himself. Dieter could recall as though it had been yesterday the mixture of pride and emotion on his father's face as they had packed his trunk for school, and his mother crying at the long separation that awaited them. His own feelings had been an equal measure of excitement and nerves.

But then he had arrived, and his amazement had overshadowed everything else. He could never have _imagined_ such fierce, majestic beauty. The sharp, ragged mountains, the azure lake, the gleam of the snow in sunlight and the very silence of that seemingly boundless landscape were unlike anything he had known before, and if their savage magnificence impressed him, he became fond of his second home before long. He would find himself gazing into the pale night sky—so unlike the black lamp-lit nights of Bremen—during the warmer months, or listening to the wind howling behind the castle windows, or watching his very favourite winter sight, aurora borealis, his nostrils full of the spicy scent of hot cider. He learned to enjoy the pinch of frost on his cheeks when he rode his broom around the grounds and the soreness in his limbs after a day full of duelling practice.

What made his first years at Durmstrang even better was being roommates with Gellert. Not that he would have admitted it to anyone else, but he was delighted to be paired with a fellow German, and Gellert proved to be a true friend. He was funny, he was energetic, he was an excellent student, and he had what most people lacked: a genuinely caring side and a sense of consideration. It manifested itself at first in the small gestures, such as making certain Dieter felt comfortable and included in whatever group games they happened to play—gestures that many would have failed to notice but which where all the more precious for it.

Strangely, it also become a source of guilt when Dieter wrote home. It had been his father's dream to see him surrounded by friends his age, and the truth was, Gellert was his only friend. What those who had never attended Durmstrang rarely realised was that all students came from rich and often pureblood families. No one else could afford the study fee, their school being private and elite after all. The Heiderfelds' sudden fortune had been just enough to cover it, and with all the money spent, Dieter's position was as modest as it always had been. He soon found out that some of his classmates considered one's lack of wealth an unforgivable crime.

But apart from the vague sense of having disappointed his father's hopes, he remained entirely content in Gellert's company, convinced their friendship was one that would last for a lifetime. Sure enough, Gellert was there for him when a fatal letter shattered Dieter's world: his parents, it said, had died in a sudden bout of Dragon Pox. For weeks, all he could do was force his body through a succession of lessons and practices from the sheer effort of not losing his mind. His friend would frequently study with him, staying up for long hours and even skipping classes—less for his own need, Dieter suspected, than from desire to offer him support.

Coming into the empty house for summer break was a feeling Dieter would not have wished upon an enemy. Every piece of furniture was loaded with memory; every trinket was connected to the image of his mother arranging it carefully in the room; the clothes his father had left him still had his scent on them. He could not have explained how he had survived those two months, except that he would count days until September. Ironically, it could have been easier, had he been born a Muggle. Muggle laws dictated that an underage person ought to find a living arrangement with someone of age, someone who could protect them. Wizarding law was another matter, and nothing forbade a fourteen-year-old wizard from living by himself in his late parents' house. Once again, Durmstrang proved to be his only salvation. For all its hefty tuition fees, the Institute did provide help to those who needed it as long as the semesters were paid for on schedule. This way, Dieter was assigned a personal councellor, who kept in touch with him throughout the summer months, making sure his magical abilities were not diminished by grief. Even so, Dieter longed to be back in the castle. He missed everything about it, and more than anything else, he missed his friend, Gellert, though he had not received a word from him since they had parted in June: something that worried him a great deal.

He was certain Gellert would explain everything once they met again, but a new blow was awaiting him when he found himself back in his dormitory on the first of September. There was something about Gellert that he could not identify: something that felt wrong without having a rational explanation. It was like a transparent barrier. At first, he was almost sure he had imagined it. Gellert was still there for him, as friendly and helpful and funny as ever. The only difference was that more and more often, he would accept invitations from a particular group of students within the school, which consisted of the richest, the most brilliant and often the most snobbish youngsters. From those invites, Dieter was excluded. Not that he minded, but the somewhat painful feeling of seeing his only friend drift away towards those who so openly dismissed Dieter for his modest background could not be avoided. By the end of a few months, Gellert stopped so much as sharing his most banal experiences with Dieter, and the barrier between them solidified into something resembling an invisible concrete wall.

One afternoon, Gellert announced that he had requested and been granted a transfer from their shared dorm. He then proceeded to pack his belongings so that they could be carried over to his new room. Dieter wished he had been kicked in the gut instead—it would have been less painful than this. He watched the other wizard leave, offering no word in response from fear that nothing coherent would come out of his mouth.

Being a loner both by disposition and by the virtue of having spent his childhood with only his parents and his books for company, he never thought he would suffer from solitude. But there was no one now to send him an owl or ask how he was doing. The loneliness was so deep that even the mountain of homework they regularly received did not seem enough to cover it. And with it came the feeling that he would never find it in him to trust people again.

Rumour had reached him that Gellert's mother had died during that same summer break. It made him wonder whether this tragedy accounted for his friend's transformation and desire to distance himself. Hard as he tried, however, he could not justify Gellert's behaviour. One did not ditch one's old friends for no reason and without a word of explanation. One did not sell one's soul for popularity and the adoration of a shallow and prejudiced crowd.

And then, a year later, something unexpected happened. That very same group of elitists came to offer him, Dieter, to join them. His strong academic results—the only thing he had left now—had been noticed, and at last, he had been deemed good enough to be seen in their company. All he had to do was go through the obligatory trial: jumping off the highest cliff on the school grounds into the lake.

Angry, conflicted and disgusted with himself, he went there against his better judgment. He was tired of being alone, more tired than he dared confess to himself. But when he arrived to the foot of the cliff and among the solemn faces, all of which were watching him for signs of weakness, he understood the vast difference between seeing such a stunt performed from the side and having to do it on his own. The cliff was so high that he could not discern the water under it. There was nothing but chard-like mountains before him, a dark abyss beneath him, a throng of hostile wizards and witches behind him and a frosty wind biting every inch of his skin. His wand, his only recourse, felt like little more than a twig at the prospect of a free fall into an icy lake, and it was inconceivable how one could survive a jump this deadly and have the time to even think of casting a spell, let alone do it. So he did the only thing he could. With a firm and final no, he walked away before his body could betray him and manifest his fear for every haughty face to see. He was done playing their games. He was done with the lot of them for good—including Gellert, who simply stood there, observing him the entire time.

Except _they_ were not done with him. News of his refusal spread through the school in a single night-time, and the following morning, he had to endure whispers and overt stares all throughout breakfast, which he ate alone, as always. It was only to have been expected, and the rumours were certain to die down as quickly as they had started, he was sure. With resignation, he sat through the first set of classes, and indeed, it seemed that some of his classmates' attention was ebbing away. He was ready to sigh in relief.

In retrospect, Dieter had to marvel at his own foolishness. He had been unable to foresee the inevitable back then, just like he had now missed the very obvious signs of Albus's infatuation.

It had happened at lunch time, just before the afternoon classes. A trio of Veela girls had approached him.

What he had done was brave, they had said, and no one understood better than them what it felt like to have to play by someone else's rules. Their sudden interest had not fooled him. He was only too well-aware of the fame those rather mean-spirited Veela girls had acquired, and an excuse was ready on his lips as he attempted to get away. But then something very welcome occurred: his worries dissolved in a wave of inner peace, and happiness spread through his mind—a feeling he had not known for months and months. They insisted that he stay with them for a moment, that they only wanted to talk. Their voices had turned sweet and song-like, their sapphire eyes bored into his, and their golden hair rippled like waves on the sea. By the time he came to his senses, it was too late. As if slapped in the face, he found himself in the middle of the busiest hallway, his trousers down and his hand already on the string of his drawers, as if ready to relieve him of the bothersome fabric. He thought then he was going to die from humiliation while half the school wiped away tears of laughter around him. Attending the rest of his lessons that day cost him every last bit of will in his body, and if he had cared any less about not giving his classmates the satisfaction of seeing him subdued, he might have seriously considered jumping off that cliff after all.

And still, it was not the last of the shocks that terrible day had in store for him. At dinner, his former best friend sat down to eat with him for the first time after a year of hardly exchanging a word or acknowledging his existence. Dieter could not believe it; he kept frantically looking around, wondering if he was being pushed into yet another careful trap set up by his tormentors. Gellert assured him, however, that he had taken care of those and that there would be no more trials or bullying. It was at that moment that Dieter took a good look at his friend after what felt like an eternity. Gellert had changed. He had grown up, but that was not all.

Where Gellert from the earlier years had been boyishly charming, cheeky and endearing, this Gellert... it was not that those qualities were no longer present; rather, they were expressed in a different manner. There was confidence about him, a certain high-bred haughtiness that was natural to the elitists from his group. There was also... could it be seduction? All in all, Dieter had the impression as though Gellert's natural, innate charm had been taken and channeled into its full potential, not unlike a dangerous weapon. It was hard to put into words, and yet, he did not like it at all. Nor did he feel that his friend was back. This was not the same Gellert he had known.

If anything, the latter's casual demeanour only enhanced this impression, for he acted as though nothing had happened, as if he had never abandoned his friend.

"Don't worry about the girls any more and come down to Gretten Bjørn tomorrow night," he said to a very disturbed Dieter. "Don't make me look bad, all right?"

For the life of him, Dieter could not have explained even now why he had accepted the invite. Perhaps he was a weak person with no self-control. Perhaps he had been starved for company. Perhaps he still felt remnants of loyalty towards his former best friend—and if this was the case, he _was_ weak because Gellert did not deserve it. And yet… and yet, the latter had ensured that he, Dieter, would no longer be harassed by the snobbish students or the Veela girls. So the following evening, Dieter went to the pub by the shore, furious with himself, furious with Gellert, whom he now owed a debt, and convinced this was another elaborate prank designed to humiliate him.

For once, he was wrong. The meeting was about introducing him to Gellert's new friends, which effectively secured his inclusion into the group despite his earlier refusal. He had known from afar who those people were, even though he had never had the chance or the desire to truly meet them, and now that he was afforded a closer look, he felt no sympathy towards any of them—a feeling that was visibly mutual. It occurred to him, not without bittersweet emotion, that if only his father had known how little he would fit with the rest of Durmstrang, he would no doubt have let him remain home-schooled.

Be that as it may, those students came to tolerate him as one of their own, and it was not until later that Dieter realised whose merit this was. Again, something that should have had been obvious from the start. Why Gellert had gone to such lengths to include him, he did not know, but from that point forward, he became more observant towards the small details in people's behaviour. Sometimes he could have sworn old Gellert was still there under the new façade he had built around himself. His caring, considerate self might not have changed, for all the dangerous and snobbish charisma it now had to co-exist with. And whenever this realisation came, Dieter felt alarmed, genuinely so, for Gellert's future. For what kind of popularity was worth repressing the best traits one's personality had to offer?

It was not until one evening that he was accosted by a Bulgarian witch in an empty classroom: an incident that opened his eyes to certain truths and complicated his feelings towards his former best friend even further.

"You are Gellert Grindelwald's secret girlfriend, yes?" she asked, her tone not unlike the edge of a knife.

He gaped at her, uncomprehending.

"Ignat has been wondering, you see," she went on. "I am here on his behalf."

And so it dawned on him: he was a part of _her_ test. The core problem with the elite groups within the school was a giant paradox. On one hand, Durmstrang was at the forefront of the progress in wizarding society, for its unique environment enabled its students to approach every subject with an open mind, be it the Dark Arts or the ethical dilemmas of their time, no matter how controversial. Most of the time, it was beneficial to all the parties involved, and the Durmstrang students had long since acquired the reputation of being among the most confident and competent graduates, often impressing much older witches and wizards. On the other hand, gathering youngsters from influential and often pureblood families in one place inevitably led to power play, where the sense of superiority and of immunity to prosecution rendered the existence of such elite groups a necessity for an individual's protection.

Bulgarians were especially notorious for it. The root of the problem lay in a certain historical conflict. The school had been founded by a Bulgarian witch called Nerida, but it was a German wizard who had succeeded her, likely by the means—as many agreed—of murdering her. How much of it was true could not be established—it had happened centuries ago after all. The fact remained that German influence had done the school a lot of good as Durmstrang had been transformed into the impressive teaching establishment it was these days. And then the Nordic wizards had brought something akin to Enlightenment to the Institute's environment, which had rendered the school still more attractive to young wizards from across all Europe. Ironically, perhaps, Nerida's vision had become a reality.

Yet many Bulgarians felt _their_ school had been taken away from them, and even though not all of them sported such an attitude, tensions were the norm. As a result, whenever there happened to be personal dislike between a German student and a Bulgarian one, this archaic piece of history was brought up as an excuse to stir trouble.

Therefore, upon hearing Ignat's name, Dieter understood.

"Look," he replied as calmly and clearly as his language skills would allow, "why don't you return to your dormitory?"

Naturally, she had no intention of doing so.

"Funny how you are all by yourself; Ignat tells me your boyfriend has been keeping you close lately."

Dieter's eyes narrowed. "You need to go."

Still, she did not. If anything, she pursued her somewhat clumsy attempts at mockery, her wand hand tensing.

"No boyfriend then? I do wonder why, truly. You are not even that ugly. A little short, yes, but not ugly… yet."

And then she _Cursed_ him.

He was too slow to react. It was nearly always the case—and the very reason his grades at duelling were not as good as those in other subjects. Besides, he kept forgetting witches were not like Muggle ladies, even if they often chose to behave in a delicate manner. Magic evened out the odds significantly. It was, of course, unthinkable for a Muggle man to raise his hand to a woman, but the fact was, the level of physical strength between them was highly uneven. This was not the case for witches and wizards: they used their wands as their main weapon, and magical power was essential in duelling. As such, there was no place for preferential treatment for witches. For some reason, however, Dieter had always been too much of a gentleman to even think of harming a witch.

His reluctance earned him a mouthful of blood and terrible pain. She had gone directly for his face to mutilate and humiliate.

"Now _that_ was a very unfortunate decision on your part, Iskra," Gellert's voice rang out.

Dieter was in too much pain—and truth be told, very worried for his teeth—to argue when his former friend ordered him out seconds later. Shortly afterwards, he joined him and demanded to see the damage. After a short battle of wills, which Dieter predictably lost, he allowed Gellert to heal his shattered teeth despite the humiliation. Now he owed him a second debt, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to stay angry with him for having abandoned him.

"I tried to spare you all this," Gellert told him then. "That's why I requested a transfer to another dorm, in case you were wondering."

"Why did you get involved with them in the first place?" Dieter could not help but ask.

"I need them. I can't do what needs to be done all by myself, and they have the means I don't. Putting up with a few idiots is worth it."

"What have you done to that witch?"

"Iskra and I spent some quality time together after you left. Sadly, she felt unwell, and we had to cut it short, but I took the liberty to mess with her mind a little, so she will have different recollections of tonight. Ignat will hear the message loud and clear. Of course, it means it all has to stay between us. If there's any toothache, tell me—I'd rather you didn't go to the Infirmary."

Dieter's heart momentarily stopped beating. For all the Dark magic they studied for academic purposes, there were serious consequences to consider if they were caught using such spells against each other. That was, in fact, one of the greatest misconceptions about Durmstrang. People often thought they were being educated to become criminals whereas the opposite was the case. The line between the concepts of Light and Dark magic was less straightforward than one thought. All a wizard needed to commit murder was a simple, well-aimed Diffindo—a more than sufficient spell to fatally injure another human being, and yet, one that was considered entirely Light.

These subtleties aside, never using Dark magic against a fellow student was a rule. And Gellert appeared to be breaking those rules with ease. Dieter found it shocking. It was not something _old_ Gellert would have done. This new, cynical Gellert simply did not care. So when this concern was raised, the response was simple and impassive.

"I'm careful not to leave evidence; I know what I'm doing. Don't worry."

With a heavy heart, Dieter kept observing him. He watched Gellert descend into an ever more dubious behaviour, and if, at times, he could not find it in himself to condemn him, it rendered him even more torn.

Another year passed without a major incident unless one counted Gellert creating connections with more and more powerful wizards and taking a little too much interest—and this was purely a feeling on Dieter's part—in certain branches of Dark magic that, in his opinion, were better left alone. Dieter had become an accepted member of the elite group, though in truth, Gellert constituted the only link between him and the others. As such, solitude remained his only true companion, and no one seemed to mind. That year was not entirely without good developments, though. Olivia Ollivander, one of the kindest witches Dieter had encountered in Durmstrang, became close to Gellert—so close, in fact, that seen from a side, they could be considered a couple. Everyone knew she was among the noblest heiresses at school and would ultimately be obliged to follow duty rather than her feelings, but even so, there was undeniable affection between them, and if Dieter were honest with himself, it gave him hope.

Being near a caring and genuine person appeared to bring out the better side in Gellert, which had been buried beneath his façade of dangerous charm. Even Dieter found himself enjoying the witch's company, for despite her status, she treated him with friendship and care, never putting herself above the others. For the first time in years, he felt included again. He ought to have known, however, that this peace was eventually doomed to be spoiled by the very nature of the crowd Gellert mingled with. They felt neglected by him, and vultures that they were, they took it upon themselves to inform Olivia's family of the amount of time she was spending in Gellert and Dieter's company—something her family did not approve of, due to Olivia's duties as well as the dubious fame Gellert had acquired over the years. Thus they were forced to drift apart before Olivia could be compromised any further. And so their final year started with Dieter feeling even angrier towards the elitists Gellert had never stopped dangerously flirting with, and towards Gellert himself, though worry was now another constant presence in his life.

The sheer amount of schoolwork and the prospect of final exams were a welcome excuse to fully dedicate himself to his books, so for the large part, he lost track of the endless details of the power play between the most influential students at school. Rumours of such or such of Gellert's conquests or foes would reach him, and he would try to remain calm, for in the end, there was nothing he could do. His opinions and advice held little sway over Gellert, whom he now barely understood at all. Not that his endearing qualities had disappeared; it was more that his personality was now such a striking blur of charm and brilliance and humour and cynicism that Dieter could not even begin to untangle where genuine friendship stopped and manipulation started. He was not sure he even wanted to know; the truth was likely to upset him. But it so happened that before long, he heard that Ignat, the very same Bulgarian wizard who had sent a witch to curse him, had sworn revenge against Gellert for something that he perceived as a mortal offense.

He then tried to warn his friend. Whatever had happened between them in the past was one thing; this was quite another. The Bulgarian group at Durmstrang was full of cocky individuals, yes, but one thing everyone knew was that they held onto their promises no matter the consequences—the darker the promise, in fact, the more importance it was granted. Gellert responded as he always did: Dieter was being dramatic, Dieter needed to calm down, nothing was going to happen. And for a while, it would seem he was right.

Until one evening, shortly after the last of their exams, Dieter let his tired eyes wander around the dining hall, his body still tense from the stress and not quite used to the idea that there would be no more tests to sit through. His muscles ached from the duelling exam, which, admittedly, he had been most nervous about. As his gaze swept over the table occupied by the Bulgarian group, he noticed it to be quieter and graver than usual. He also noticed that Ignat was absent. One look in the opposite direction showed him Gellert at his usual spot, engaged in a lively debate with the rest of his friends. He could not explain what felt so unnatural about the situation: students sometimes skipped meals for various reasons. But he also knew Gellert had developed the habit of going swimming in the lake during evening hours, and with Ignat's grudge having become notorious, Dieter could not suppress a feeling of alarm. Perhaps he was too dramatic, but something felt off, as though a trap had been laid.

That evening, he went out after curfew, wondering if he was insane yet unable to stop. It was as though his legs were carrying him of their own accord, slipping through one of the entrances of the castle into the vast grounds, where a path led down the mountain towards an enclosed lake meant for students' use. He did not even need his wand to cast Lumos; nights were light in the North during the warm months, and the sky was a ghostly gray, though it had not yet entirely lost its blush from the setting sun. To keep the worry at bay, he kept rehearsing what he was going to say to Gellert once he ascertained the latter was safe and sound in the water. He was also going to check the grounds for any trap laid by the vengeful Bulgarian. If done as planned, it was not even going to take long. But he never made it all the way down to the lake. Even as his instincts had screamed at him to hurry, he came too late, and the evidence was waiting for him on that same path.

It were the eyes he saw first. Eyes open wide, the beetle-black irises contrasting with the prominent whites and fixed towards the pale sky. The next thing he saw was the blood. Thick and dark, it oozed from a wound at the back of the head, seeping between rocks, as though to irrigate the infertile land like a ritualistic offering. The wizard's palm, the one that did not clutch his wand, was open—a gesture that, for some reason, struck Dieter as pitiful. And the look on Ignat's face... Dieter wanted to look away, he tried, but it was as though his feet had been rooted into the path, and his gaze appeared to be petrified. There was no sound around them, only the wind—or perhaps it was the rushing in his ears. He kept standing there, frozen, and the blood oozed and oozed, as though there were no end to it.

At last, he tore his eyes away, and they landed on Gellert, who was crouching nearby, his wand still raised while his free hand rested on his throat. And Dieter saw why in seconds. Purple marks—the remains of what he was positive had been a strangling spell—were prominent beneath his fingers. His friend's eyes were wild and dilated in shock. Recovering enough to finally assess the situation, Dieter looked back at Ignat's body. It had been an accident. He could tell from the marks alone what had happened: Ignat must have ambushed Gellert on his way back to the castle, casting the Strangling Curse, and Gellert had had just enough strength to repel him with a non-verbal spell that had caused the other wizard to fall back, splitting his head on the rocks in the process. It _had_ been an accident.

The realisation helped Dieter find his voice, and he stepped forward, taking out his wand.

"Gellert, are you all right? Your throat… you need healing. I can help you—"

But Gellert did not listen to him. In this most crucial of times when he should have, he did not.

"No. We need to go."

Dieter did not like his tone, but he tried to grasp at straws, though he had a vague suspicion as to what Gellert was referring to.

"Right. You should go directly to the Infirmary, and I can bring the Headmaster to you."

He might as well have stayed silent.

"Don't waste our time, Dieter, you are coming with me."

And for the first time in their lives, it was an order. Gellert had given him an _order_.

It hurt and shocked Dieter more than he had thought possible. Despite all the changes Gellert had undergone in the last years, Dieter had thought him a friend and an equal. Maybe not as close a friend as he had been at the start of school, but a friend regardless—someone to respect and to listen to. Even taking in account Gellert's newly acquired cynicism, he had hoped he was being viewed as such too. But whom had he been kidding? When had Gellert ever listened to him? And yet, what happened next terrified Dieter even more than the sight of Ignat's dead body.

Gellert absently rubbed at his throat, as if pretending the marks were not there. It probably hurt to talk for long, now that Dieter thought about it.

"For the last time, we need to go. If you'd rather obey under my Imperius, so be it."

And he meant it, Dieter could see it from the gleam in his eye and the tension in his posture. He wanted to keep protesting, to make Gellert see reason, to shake him out of the shock that still had to possess him, but he knew Gellert well enough to understand none of it was going to make a difference. So he followed him back to the castle, his mind working on how best to talk him into a reasonable course of action.

He had underestimated Gellert's determination. Deaf to all objections, the other wizard headed straight for their old dormitory, which Dieter now shared with another student. The latter was currently downstairs at the Gobstones tournament with the rest of the school. Unable to believe this was actually happening, Dieter turned to try and reason with his former friend yet again, only to find a wand pointed at his face.

"Pack the essentials, nothing else," came something between a hiss and a shaky injunction.

Gellert's grip on his wand was so tight his knuckles had turned white, and something in his face was so frightening that Dieter's protest died on his lips. His sense of unreality was steadily increasing by that point, and so was his fear. He therefore did as he was told, shoving some clothes and personal items in a bag, as well as his father's chess set—his most treasured possession. No sooner was he done than he found himself practically dragged to Gellert's dormitory, where it took the other wizard less than a minute to magically pack his bag.

The next thing he knew, Dieter was being ushered towards the office of their Conjuring teacher. His spirits momentarily soared at the assumption that Gellert's conscience had caught up with him after all. He had already opened his mouth to point out that the elderly wizard was likely downstairs with the rest, but the words got stuck in his throat as Gellert simply used an obscure spell to unlock the door before pushing him inside. The shock of having broken into a teacher's office— _how_? How had he found out the incantation?—had not even settled in when the tall wizard reached for a jar of Floo powder on the mantelpiece. And that crossed the line.

People liked to joke about Durmstrang's secrecy and unplottable location, but reality was less amusing. Nothing held the students inside. Once they chose to leave, however, they were not getting back inside—not on their own, not without help. And Dieter refused to go this far. If Gellert wanted to ruin his life, that was his business, and Dieter was done poking his nose where he clearly was not wanted. But he was not going to stand for this. He had not gone through seven difficult years and accepted his parents' fortune to run away for no reason at all, without even his graduation paper to attest to his hard-earned education. It was too much.

He could remember lunging at the jar, trying to knock it out of Gellert's hand, but the other wizard had been ready and pushed him away with such force that Dieter fell backwards, landing on an old rug. By the time he got up, the powder had been thrown into the fire, which had turned emerald green, and their bags had disappeared in the flames. He knew what was coming. He tried to run. Ignat's body was going to be discovered in a matter of hours, if not moments, and once all students had been rounded up... They could not leave. Dieter, at least, could not. He knew the truth about what had happened, and he could clear Gellert's name even if Gellert himself refused to do the reasonable thing. So he launched himself towards the door, which bolted itself shut a second before he reached it. What he remembered next was a scuffle involving a few punches in both directions, a locked arm and pain as he struggled to get away while Gellert forcefully hauled him towards the emerald fire, pausing only to articulate the name of a German location. Dieter did not even have the time to cast one last look at the school office before he was sucked into the meander of Floo network. When the twirling finally stopped, he fell out of a fireplace onto the dusty floor of a baroque mansion.

Gellert was still holding onto him, and they were both panting heavily. It felt surreal, impossible.

"There, that's done then."

Taking Dieter's wand, Gellert finally released him and walked away. It was dark outside, and the air was different, warmer. This, combined with the way the mansion had come to life at Gellert's presence, gave the other boy a clear idea as to where they were.

After a few steadying breaths, he picked himself up, feeling sore all over. He was standing in what could be the drawing room of the house. The candles in the large chandelier had lit themselves at their arrival, and their flames reflected in gilded mirrors. The ceiling was high, the furniture heavy and opulent, and a few paintings adorned the walls. The room had been decorated in golden tones—even the tasselled cushions on the settees had been picked to match the baroque style of the house. There was a layer of dust on every surface.

Knowing better than anyone else what it was like to return to an empty house haunted by the memories of one's loved ones, Dieter could imagine all too vividly how much Gellert must have suffered here during the summer breaks. But at this moment, he was so angry that he had half the mind to escape through the window, if only to spite Gellert.

Of course, his kidnapper was back before he could actually go through with the idea, levitating what seemed to be a collection of jewellery and other golden objects towards his bag.

"You are a fool," Dieter said to him, his voice sounding hard even to his own ears. "And I will never forgive you for this."

"I'd offer you some refreshments, but we need to go; we can't stay here," Gellert merely replied.

So they left. Their first stop was at a Muggle pawn shop, where Dieter watched Gellert trade the gold objects from his mansion for Muggle money. Thus armed with stacks of bank notes and pouches of coins, they boarded a train for Munich. Dieter spent most of the journey glaring at Gellert while the latter sat opposite him with a book, as though hoping to drill a hole through the pale forehead with the intensity of his gaze.

It did not work, but when they arrived to the city, he found more outlets for his frustration. Being wandless made him feel despicably weak, especially given Gellert's prowess at Muggle fighting. He knew, of course, there was the Trace on him until his seventeenth birthday, which was only two weeks away—in addition to everything else, he was _younger_ than Gellert too—however, he was willing to bet his chess set that he would not be getting his wand back anytime soon, of age or not. This, and Gellert's utter lack of remorse for what he had done, prompted him to express his anger in the only way he could. He complained. A lot. At every occasion he got.

It gave him an almost twisted sense of satisfaction to loudly voice his discontent whenever he happened to be cold, hungry, thirsty, uncomfortable or in any other predicament suitable for a five-year-old. To his surprise, Gellert heeded his requests with little protest. Whether it was out of a feeling of guilt, Dieter could not be sure, nor did he particularly care. Their academic careers had likely been ruined by their escape, and the fruit of seven years of intense work was for naught because Gellert was too afraid of the authorities to confess to an accident. As they stayed night after night in a shabby room they had rented at a Muggle house near Munich, Dieter would remind himself of this mess whenever he found himself feeling sorry for his kidnapper, who, admittedly, denied himself all the comforts Dieter was privy to.

Why they had to stay in such modest living quarters was yet another question Gellert had refused to answer. "We have to," was all he had said. If anything could make Dieter even angrier than he was already, it was his companion's refusal to give an explicit answer to any of the crucial questions, be it the reason behind kidnapping Dieter or the truth about what exactly had happened down at the lake. There was something so frustrating about being denied the right to a sincere conversation when he had already lost his wand and his freedom that after one of such pointless interrogations, Dieter's emotions overflowed. That evening, he waited for Gellert to come upstairs, and the moment the door closed, he jumped at him, desperate to get his wand back.

Granted, Gellert was far more skilled at duelling and hand-to-hand combat, but Dieter's fury appeared to be more impressive than expected. Due, perhaps, to his fervour, he managed to pin the taller wizard to the ground.

"Give me my wand!"

But Gellert was not intimidated. He calmly looked back at Dieter before letting his gaze linger on their small kitchen knife.

"You know how to use that, don't you? It's the only way you are getting your wand back right now, so go ahead."

But of course, Dieter could not. The moment stretched. It stretched long enough for him to realise he was no longer holding Gellert down; the momentum had been lost. If Gellert wanted to, he could easily throw him off; yet all he did was speak, his voice somewhat impatient.

"Or else, you could get off of me before you frighten our nice Muggle landlady."

Dieter did. He suddenly felt exhausted, desperate. For how long was this going to continue? For the hundredth time, he mentally cursed whichever deity had caused him to make Gellert's acquaintance, to say nothing of his urge to go looking for him at the lake on that fatal evening. Without another word, he sat down and put his head on the table, on top of his folded arms.

This was what finally, _finally_ produced the desired effect. 

"Listen," Gellert said, "we are staying here because we need to wait until it's safe to move on. I know you hate me right now, but trust me, I did what I did not for selfish reasons but because there was no other option. I didn't mean to kill him, but it happened."

Dieter did not move. "You don't trust me, do you?" he murmured, not caring if his words were coming out muffled. "You think I would have gone to the authorities to testify against you. You may have hurt me, Gellert, and more than once. But I wouldn't do it."

"No, it's not about that," Gellert assured him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "If there had been a way for me to spare you all of this, I would have done it, I promise. As it is, I'm glad you came down to the lake. It made it easier. Trust me, it will get better: we will find an arrangement for you, and you will get your wand back. You will be all right, more than all right. Maybe we'll even manage to find you a girl to lose your virginity with. Possibly..."

Dieter straightened up a little. The worst of his breakdown was over, but he could not find it in himself to smile at the joke.

"Good night, Gellert," he sighed.

After this outburst, he grew quieter. It no longer brought him pleasure to needle his companion with reproaches, but he could not see where all of this was going either, and he asked no more questions. He did not think anything good could possibly result from this messy, confusing situation. Until, one day, Gellert announced they were going to England. His paternal great-aunt lived in a small wizarding village, he said, and if she took them in, they could spend the summer discovering the country.

In Munich, they boarded the Orient Express, and against his expectations, Dieter felt his sense of wonder return as the train took off full speed into the countryside. It was the fastest means of transport Muggles had yet invented, and he had to admit he was impressed. Their compartment was comfortable, unlike the dark and shabby room they had spent the last month in. While a cheerful June sun peeked through the curtains of their window, tinting their compartment burgundy, Dieter allowed himself a sliver of hope that things might yet turn out all right.

Their stop was in Dover, and although the town did not seem pretty in itself, the bright blue sea was a welcome sight. During their quick lunch on the shore, Dieter enjoyed watching Muggles walk along the promenade in solemn couples and family groups. What they said about Englishmen was true: they possessed a certain elegance and earnestness that came across as both endearing and amusing.

From there, it was Apparition, and Dieter was starting to feel nervously excited about coming near wizards again. He wondered what the village was going to be like and whether Gellert's great-aunt was anything like him.

After hearing tales of the fog and the filth of London, the most industrial city in the world, he was not sure what to expect, but he should have realised a wizarding village could not possibly be the same. Godric's Hollow was a place full of greenery and of old houses with pointed roofs, and its inhabitants seemed content and practical, very much unlike the Durmstrang crowd he was used to.

At this point, Gellert had no choice but to ask a passer-by—an elderly wizard with a pet toad on his shoulder—for directions to his aunt's house. It turned out to be around the corner from the Apparition point. The wizard gave them a curious look as he brandished his cane to indicate the correct street, but it could be due to Dieter's questioning glance, for the man's unusual accent had taken him aback.

They were halfway down the cobbled street when Gellert whispered, "There she is," nodding at a witch whom Dieter would not have given a second glance. She was middle-aged and clad in a striped dress and a hat, her brownish hair fixed in high bun. She looked absolutely nothing like Gellert, not the least because her facial expression seemed to be fixed in a permanently displeased sneer.

At Gellert's words, however, she looked up, as if sensing their stare, and Dieter saw her jaw slacken. It was as if she had _guessed_ at first glance Gellert was on the run from some sort of trouble.

In fact, his hopes for a pleasant introduction were shattered the moment the witch opened her mouth. She was not at all happy to find out her grand-nephew had decided to invite himself to her house. In fact, it took a healthy amount of emotional blackmail from Gellert to make her accept to take them in. And as they talked, several points came together in Dieter's mind.

The first thing the witch warned Gellert about was that she would not suffer the slightest shadow on her pristine reputation. She also informed them that an owl from Durmstrang had reached her some weeks ago, requesting that she notify them in case her grand-nephew showed up in Godric's Hollow. This would have been a part of the official investigation, Dieter thought; it explained why they had been in hiding for this long. They had needed the official investigation to be closed before travelling could become safe again.

The conversation did not stop there; it only brought an even more disturbing piece of news. Madam Bagshot asked whether someone would come looking for them, to which Gellert readily replied that a foreign friend of his _might_ come and ask about his whereabouts one day, though it would not be an official visit, and that it was nothing to worry about and that her pristine reputation, as she had put it, would not suffer in the slightest. The witch appeared satisfied with that promise, but Dieter heard something entirely else in Gellert's words.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The school had already completed their official investigation. It was not the school authorities they had to worry about. Durmstrang had done everything they could under the circumstances: they had conducted an internal investigation, concluded there had been no illegal magical activity involved and written down Ignat's death as a fatal accident for lack of further evidence. The fact that two students had disappeared was, as far as the school was concerned, most likely unrelated. The joke was on those students—they were the ones who had lost their diplomas and had possibly been officially expelled due to noncompliance with the curriculum.

No, the problem lay in Ignat's family—that was who Gellert had referred to when explaining to his aunt that if _a friend_ came looking for them, it would be an unofficial visit. Because it _would_ be.

Durmstrang was nothing more than an educational institution whose only concern was their reputation; the only thing for them to do was hush up the incident and quietly expel Gellert and himself to avoid further inconvenience. Ignat's family, on the other hand, would have wanted to see the blood debt, which Gellert now owed them, atoned for. So they would come after him, or send some hired "friend of theirs" to fetch him. It was a chilling realisation, but it now also made sense.

It was then that Dieter had turned around to see Albus Dumbledore for the first time. He had been so terrified by all the revelations that he had not even noticed the way Gellert's great-aunt had suddenly masked their thoroughly unpleasant conversation by asking what sounded like a question involving a dog.

A moment later, the English wizard had addressed him, Dieter, asking whether this was his first trip to England, and it took the latter a few seconds to realise they had switched from German to English for Albus's benefit, that "dog" had to be a name of sorts, and that he had instinctively started responding in German. Gellert swooped in at once to cover for him, blaming his admittedly poor language skills. The fact was, the depth of their predicament had only now fully sunk in, and Dieter could barely keep himself from expressing his anger.

It was _all_ Gellert's fault.

He did not quite remember how they reached Madam Bagshot's house afterwards. Only, as soon as they were shown to their respective rooms, Gellert asked his great-aunt to give them a moment, which she did without objections. It was the first time in living memory, but Dieter had had enough, and he told Gellert all he thought of him, sparing no words. It must have upset his companion, for somewhere in the middle of their argument, Gellert grabbed him by the collar to shake him up.

"Grow up, Dieter," he said seriously. "Nobody cares about orphans, nobody! And like it or not, you are one. You may think I am the worst wizard you've ever met, but I am not even close to what Ignat's family is like. Ignat had been grinding on my nerves for quite a while, so I dug up a few things about him. He has an older brother, you know; and believe me, compared to what he gets up to, everything I might have done is so insignificant that I might as well be nominated for the most charitable wizard of the year award. Now, even if you hadn't come down to the lake, you would have been in danger. Say what you will about that psychopath, but he cared about his little brother, and I happen to have killed him. How long will it take him to figure out who did it? Hmm? That's right, he's already out there, looking for me, which means he'll have gone through the list of names Ignat's friends would have provided him to give him pointers. Your name is at the very top of that list, which obviously means that sooner or later, he will make his way to Bremen to see if he can find you there. After all, everybody at Durmstrang knew who my alleged companions were. Hadn't I taken you with me, there would most likely be a newspaper clipping about some Muggle finding your dismembered remains. If you want to consider me selfish for not leaving you out there for him to find, be my guest."

There was silence after that. Dieter did not notice when he had slid down the wall. There was truth in those words. Durmstrang accepted students from all over Europe as long as they could pay for the offered education, but no one particularly cared where the gold came from. No educational institution did. And Dieter should have known better than to assume that it was always the hard and honest work that earned Galleons. Gellert was right; he was sometimes incredibly naive.

"Why did you invite that English wizard to dinner?" Dieter asked after a while. "He had a mourning band around his arm."

Gellert shrugged.

"We need to establish new contacts. Someone with no connection to Durmstrang."

"Why?"

"You do want to get out of this mess, don't you, Dieter? Well, for that purpose, we need gold, and since showing up at Gringotts could give away my location to unwanted parties, I might need someone else to do it for me at some point. I am working on the plan, but if everything goes well, I'll get in touch with Olivia soon. She will help us sort out a few things. With some luck, we may be able to forge a new identity for you and find you a safe location. All Ignat's brother has is your name and address, nothing more, so if you were to disappear for a while, he wouldn't know where else to look for you."

Dieter asked no more questions; he felt too overwhelmed. Gellert took it upon himself to comfort him again, though.

"Dieter, listen, hardly anyone knows of my English connection. Quite frankly, it will require some effort and a rather hefty bribery for them to uncover this information, which buys us some time. And don't worry—if nothing else, at least we have a dinner to look forward to where it won't be only the two us. Later, I will talk Auntie into letting us go and see some sights. You might like England yet; you've never been here before, have you?"

But Dieter could not speak. He sat there, feeling as though he had just been hit in the head with a club. Gellert went on.

"I know you are sad. You worked very hard for your diploma, and I've ruined it for you. But Dieter, the skills you have acquired are not gone: you have your life, and the rest can be bought with gold. I know you'd rather not accept favours, but Olivia might have just enough connections for us to organise a safe location for you, as well as a new identity and a decent occupation. Perhaps not Gringotts just yet, like you've always wanted, but anything is possible."

"And what about you, Gellert?" Dieter asked then. "What are you going to do?"

"I've already killed one brother; I can kill the other one."

It were these words that caused Dieter to snap out of his shock-induced reverie.

_Was Gellert serious? Was he really so far gone as to speak of Ignat's demise without any remorse? Or was he simply putting up a tough façade, not wanting to reveal his true feelings?_

Those were the questions, and Dieter truly did not know any more. The lines could become blurred very easily with Gellert. The way his former best friend had kidnapped him and held him hostage for an entire month, never disclosing any information, was simply unforgivable, even if Dieter now knew the reason behind it. The way Gellert would constantly manipulate and lie to those around him was not any more acceptable. And as for the way he would conceal all the vital pieces of information—whether out of shame for how deeply he had sunk into the Dark Arts or otherwise—simply had no excuse. And yet, there was something about Gellert that made one want to believe he was still good.

That day, Gellert gave him his wand back with an apology and the promise that he would never do it again. Dieter said nothing in response. When Albus Dumbledore came over for dinner that night, he did not let his emotions show, though it was purely for the English wizard's sake.

Gellert had been right about one thing: they could as well enjoy their stay, even if the rift between them was now virtually impossible to overcome.

In the end, Dieter found he had grown attached to Albus in a way, sensing something of a parallel between them, for the English boy was as shy and committed to his studies as himself. What he had not expected was for things to escalate once again, and right in front of his nose.

As he entered Madam Bagshot's house and went up the stairs to reach his bedroom, he paused to press his hand against Gellert's door. The shiver of magic told him all he needed to know: it was warded. And the one word that resonated in his mind was _irresponsible_. 

Gellert had no right to wreck Albus's life, in addition to everything else he had done. If he was too selfish to recognise it, it was his, Dieter's responsibility to warn the English wizard of the danger. Even if it was partially too late.

 

 **AN:** So, I've found myself a new favourite school—Durmstrang. But hey, dear Bulgarian readers if you're out there, I don't think all Bulgarian students were like Ignat—just so that you'd know. Also, I've been to Bulgaria and loved quite a few things there :)

On another note, what do you think, is Gellert a good friend? Please feel free to leave a comment. I'm getting increasingly more nervous with posting these chapters, so thank you, dear Tarpeia, for making this chapter look decent.


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

Dawn blossomed into a fragrant morning. Small clouds floated across the sky, and warm breeze caressed Albus's face as he entered the garden, glancing up at Madam Bagshot's house across the moderately bustling street. This was what summer was supposed to feel like, he thought; though of course, this was rather a matter of sentiment than weather, and there was now summer in his heart.

He had never been this happy; had never indeed suspected such a state of being was possible. He felt as though it might be a dream that would dissolve into nothingness at his slightest movement. It would make sense, for what had he ever done to deserve such joy? And yet, the memories were there, and no one could take them away.

When he thought back on his behaviour from the night of the ball, he felt ashamed. It had been wrong to follow Gellert and eavesdrop. It had been wrong to call him an infamous monster, though he had done it in despair and half-convinced this was the end. But Gellert had not rejected him. He had taken him to his room—and they had been fortunate, so fortunate to have the house to themselves as Madam Bagshot had gone to London for the weekend. That was when he had seen the side of Gellert he had not seen before: a gentle, caring side that he found he had been craving his entire life. Tenderness was one thing he had never experienced in his family—not even from his father, who had arguably loved him the most. He had apologised then for his rash words, as well as for his actions, and Gellert had understood. Furthermore, he had offered him an explanation: that despite his affection for Olivia, their last meeting had been a goodbye, for she would have to fulfil the duties dictated by her status. He had had lovers, he had admitted, and he had not been faithful to any of them. Albus had nodded to this. He did not believe himself to be special despite Gellert's assurances to the contrary; he was simply happy to be with Gellert, and he wanted to give back some of that happiness.

The following night, he had come back. He could feel no regret, not a shred of it. There was nothing but love. He had found Gellert sombre but had been able to dispel his gloom, and they had stayed awake long into the night, sharing tenderness and confidences. They had spoken of their pasts, of their wishes, of everything that was wrong with the wizarding world. Among those reflections, one had stayed particularly clear in Albus's memory.

_"It is rather convenient and very_ human _to learn and evolve by associations. We do it instinctively: from our early childhood, we learn that it is not a good idea to perform random spells on fellow witches and wizards without knowing what they do, and we learn which magical plants are helpful and which of them can kill you. But when the associations become bad and twisted, they can evolve into dogmas that harm ourselves the most. The funny thing is that we are able to see this phenomenon in others, but very rarely in ourselves. If I may, Albus—it were_ boys _who attacked your sister. Am I correct in assuming that she's since learned to avoid unknown boys and men?"_

Albus could not understand how he had never perceived this problem before. It should have been his family's responsibility to teach Ariana that not everyone was to fear—in fact, most people were perfectly decent. Only, their mother had never liked company, Aberforth was overprotective, and Albus… he had never even thought of taking charge of the matter. At this realisation, Gellert had touched his cheek and assured him he would help as well—he would visit and befriend Ariana.

Only one obstacle—apart, perhaps, from the ever-suspicious Aberforth—disturbed the perfect feeling of happiness in Albus's chest. Dieter was not pleased with the way the events had unfolded. Gellert had alluded to his own argument with the other German wizard, mentioning that Dieter was likely to try and warn Albus to stay away. If this was the case, Albus was ready. He would take on the entire world if need be.

Within a minute, he reached the other house and knocked. It was the shorter German boy who answered.

"Guten Morgen," Albus smiled.

"Morgen," came a response. "Come in."

It seemed as though Madam Bagshot had not yet returned. Gellert also appeared to be away: the parlour was deserted. The terrace door was slightly open, causing the curtains to undulate and letting in the chirping of the birds.

"How are you?" Albus asked, conscious they had last spoken the night of the ball.

"I am good, zank you. Did you already 'ave breakfast?"

"I've had a quick one. Am I interrupting yours?"

"No," the other wizard answered, "not at all."

As they sat down, though, he summoned a kettle of tea and poured them both a cup. Albus accepted his with a word of thanks, slightly taken aback by Dieter's seriousness. He had expected disapproval, perhaps even outrage, but not this quiet, resolute frown.

"Is Gellert out?" he asked carefully.

Dieter nodded. He took a breath and then went straight to the point, surprising the English wizard with his directness. "Albus, if I may, I zink you should ztay away from Gellert."

Albus blinked, his cup half-way to his lips. "Why?"

Gazing back at him, Dieter pondered his next words.

_How did he even begin to explain without sounding cynical?_

The simple truth was that Gellert was a heartless, manipulative liar who liked toying with the others. Besides, Dieter had known him to enjoy witches' company whereas Albus clearly did not. What was going on between them and what had transpired behind the closed door, he could not even begin to guess. Whatever it was, however, it had given Albus a reason to hope for more. Gellert, on the other hand, could not possibly have been sincere with the poor Englishman. If anything, he needed him for some sort of gain, and Albus's infatuation had played right into his hands. If certain rumours were to be believed, it would hardly have been the first time.

But how could he break this to Albus? It was difficult. In the end, Dieter decided to start by reassuring him.

"Eet eez not because... Don't zink zat… I've known zome vizards at Durmstrang who… experimented, zo… eet eez not zat, and I do not zink any less of you. But Gellert eez not good for you, I am zorry."

The fact that the other wizard had so delicately told him he did not judge him for having feelings for another man touched Albus. It was not something he was likely to ever hear from anyone else.

"I believe it's the opposite," he smiled, "I am not good enough for him. But I understand what you mean to say. He is a Dark wizard, and you fear I may get hurt."

"He 'as told you I vanted to speak to you, or?" Dieter divined at once.

"He mentioned you considered me a friend. It means the world to me, and I hope to prove equal to it." Albus paused. "But Dieter, I want to be by his side. I love him."

Dieter wanted to close his eyes. Gellert had actually taken care to undermine his task before it could even begin. It was unbelievable.

"Albus, iff eet eez about preferring vizards... zere are ozer vizards."

Albus could not help but smile sheepishly. "I don't want another wizard. If only you knew how much I adore Gellert."

"You do not know 'im!" the other boy exploded, starting to feel frustrated. "You know nozing about 'im. You haff never zeen 'im at Durmstrang to understand—"

"That he is a Dark wizard? I know. But this doesn't make him a bad person. He's not the kind of wizard that Salazar Slytherin was. If I needed proof, it's right before me. You care about him, Dieter."

"I... yes, you haff right, I care, but zat eez different. Gellert vos my best friend before, but now... Look, I haff very good reasons to varn you, I am not doing eet for malice or anyzing. Iff you 'ad zeen 'im at Durmstrang, you vould not haff made friends wiz 'im. Vot you zee now is nozing but superficial charm."

Albus considered him. It seemed as though Dieter was not aware of certain truths about Gellert: his past, or the burden he carried in the form of his cursed gift, the Sight. Gellert had shared those precious secrets with him, Albus, but not with Dieter, even though the latter had been his friend for years. Albus was not going to say this out loud, though: for one thing, Gellert's secrets were only his to share, and for two, it would have been similar to rubbing salt in Dieter's wounds. Instead of contradicting him, Albus therefore went along with the argument.

"What do I not know?" he asked gently. "What has he done?"

"Correct me iff I am wrong," Dieter sighed, sorting out his thoughts, "but vot 'e has probably told you eez zat he 'ad a very difficult life. Zat his fazer vos arrested for violence against Muggles and zat his mozer died zome time later. Do you know 'ow many vitches fell for zat story? Vell, 'ere eez a fact: nobody 'as eet eazy. My parents died of Dragon pox. I grew up alone too. Zat eez just 'ow eet eez: life eez no picnic for anybody. But you probably zink zat 'e eez a poor lost soul and zat you can 'elp him, or? Vell, you cannot. Nobody can, zo better leave 'im while you still can."

Slightly overwhelmed by those revelations, Albus leaned back against the backrest of his armchair, sadness creeping into his gaze. "I'm very sorry to hear about your parents," he said quietly. "And… no, I didn't know about his father. He didn't tell me."

His heart squeezed painfully at the realisation just how much Gellert had suffered. Mr Grindelwald had been arrested for attacking Muggles, just like Albus's own father. Did he meet his end in prison, like Percival Dumbledore? And his poor wife... Albus could not bear to imagine Gellert's agony. He had been only a boy. He, Albus, at least had had family around him at those difficult times.

"My father suffered the same fate as his father," he confessed. "Mine was imprisoned for cursing the Muggle boys who had attacked my sister. The trauma had caused her to become an Obscurial. Poor Gellert." He took a shaky breath. "True, no one has it easy, but he has been through so much. If anything, he came out of his trials stronger, determined to make the world a better place. How many people can say this? I certainly can't."

"I am zorry about your zister," Dieter told him earnestly, "and about your fazer. I am very zorry."

"Thank you. In all fairness, I wasn't alone while you and Gellert… If only I'd attended Durmstrang, I could have helped the two of you."

Dieter cringed. He knew Albus meant it. The English wizard truly was a kind person. He wished he did not have to proceed with the warning, but alas, it was necessary. He did not want Albus to get hurt—which he would be eventually if left at Gellert's mercy.

"And ztill you are vrong about Gellert. You zay 'e eez strong and good but 'e eez not—zose are all lies. There eez nozing good about 'im," the blond boy stated.

"What makes you say that?"

All the arguments Albus kept receiving did nothing except strengthen his confidence in the wizard he loved, yet Dieter's hurt was such that he was convinced he was right.

"Because I know 'im. I vish eet vos not true, but eet eez."

"Did he hurt you?" Albus inquired.

" ‘E hurt me, yes, just as 'e hurts everybody else. Dark vizards are not known for ztrong moral principles, and Gellert eez no better."

This was going nowhere, and Albus could not suppress a sigh. "Dieter, forgive me, but so far, you have been very vague. You say Gellert is no good, but it doesn't outweigh what I know about him. Everything he does has a reason. He has told me about his beliefs, and I agree with them fully."

There was a few seconds' silence, and then Dieter's eyes widened in recognition.

"I zee. You vant revenge against Muggles too. Only for your zister."

" _What_?" This time, Albus stared, unable to believe this was the way his words had been interpreted. "I don't hate Muggles, Dieter. Yes, my sister was hurt by Muggles, but that doesn't make their entire population wicked, just like it does not make us superior. I want nothing of the sort. And nor does Gellert. All he wants is justice: a world where we all take responsibility for our actions, wizards and Muggles alike."

"Eez zat vot he told you? Don't believe."

"And why shouldn't I?" Albus insisted, now feeling frustrated himself. "Gellert is not the new Salazar Slytherin. He is good. Strong and selfless."

Dieter leaned in, his eyes uncharacteristically fierce.

"Do you 'onestly zink zat people vho are zo strong and zelfless abandon zeir friends to go and join a group of pureblood elitists vho all zink they are above ze law and can do vot zey vant? Because zat eez vot Gellert did. Ve vere best friends, and zen 'e just decided he didn't vant me around any more. And eet eez not only me; 'e doez zat to everybody. Let me guess: 'e probably told you as much 'imself, but like everyone before you, you zink you are special and can somehow change 'im. You cannot. Don't even try—I haff tried; I know vot I am talking about. And about Muggles—off course 'e hates zem. 'E blames zem for everything, and vhy vouldn't he? Zey ruined everyzing for 'im. Iff 'e didn't hate zem, why vould he become zo chummy wiz 'is new friends? He even moved out of our dormitory."

Each new revelation completed the picture more and more accurately. Albus's annoyance evaporated in the face of Dieter's hurt. At a certain point, Gellert had conceived a plan to bring the much-needed improvements to the wizarding society, dedicating himself to building connections. In the process, he had left Dieter behind, probably in an attempt to protect him, except he had not explained any of it. He had hoped, perhaps, that Dieter would move on, but he had underestimated his friend's loyalty. The other boy was hurt from what he perceived as a betrayal, still hurting to this day. And yet, he had not stopped caring. There were very few people like him in the world.

"He did it to protect you, Dieter" Albus said softly. "From those elitists he now socialises with, no doubt. If he had truly abandoned you, you wouldn't be in England, would you?"

Not mollified in the slightest, Dieter crossed his arms. "Nobody forced 'im to join zem. It vos 'is choice. Most importantly, ask yourzelf why he has become zo close to zem. I 'oped you'd understand."

Biting his lip, Albus promised himself to speak to Gellert about Dieter's feelings at the nearest opportunity. Living with so much hurt and misplaced resentment was plain wrong, and Dieter deserved to know at least some of the truth, for he genuinely cared. Simultaneously, there was no reason why Gellert should have to bear endless reproaches for what had essentially been a well-meaning gesture.

"I appreciate what you have told me. I know it comes from the heart, and I thank you for it. But I love him. And perhaps he still deserves to be trusted. I am willing to take the risk, and I accept full responsibility for my choice." He paused, tilting his head to one side. "Olivia believes in him too, doesn't she?"

"Yes," Dieter admitted. "But iff anyzing…'e let 'er slip away because 'is ozer friends were jealous. Iff zat doesn't tell you vot kind of vizard he is, I don't know vot does."

"Those friends of his sound like quite a nest of snakes," Albus muttered. He now understood better than ever how much Gellert had wanted to protect Dieter from their influence. The thought was disturbing. The effect Gellert had on people was something Albus was only too well aware of, and if those purebloods were half as ruthless as Dieter had described, they were more than capable of using Gellert for their own agendas, promising help that they never meant to deliver, tearing him apart for no other reason than because they could. "But they are far away while we are here. We care about him. I will do my best to protect him because in the end, I am like you, Dieter."

The other boy sighed. He seemed to deflate slightly, as though realising his efforts were pointless. "Oh, Albus, iff you are like me, zen we are both idiots. I don't haff any choice at zis point, really, but you... I just don't understand 'ow eet eez possible. I haff known Gellert for years, and you merely a fortnight. Haff you been force-fed zome potion or placed under a Curse? I vould haff zought zo, except zat eez not Gellert's style, zat much I know."

This made Albus chuckle for the first time. It was a welcome sensation, laughter.

"No potion," he promised, his eyes full of mirth. "I love him, and it's true. A potion wouldn't make me willing to put my life or my magic at risk, all to help him. How it came to be, I have no idea. But how couldn't it have come to be? There is no one like him. I don't deserve him."

Dieter's mouth fell open, causing him to look almost comical.

"I... I zink I vant to brew an antidote," he uttered slowly.

Albus was speaking like a madman, and it was no longer amusing. As if to corroborate this idea, the latter burst out laughing at Dieter's horrified expression, now appearing positively out of his mind.

"I have no objection. Madam Bagshot's Potions corner is right there, and I'm sure you know the spells which neutralise Love Curses. If I'm not under influence, they will not affect me."

To the Englishman's surprise, Dieter did get up, heading for the Potions corner and whipping out the necessary ingredients, as well as a small cauldron. Albus watched him with some fascination. It was out of friendship that Dieter was acting this way, but it was still startling to think he believed his former best friend capable of using this type of magic. If nothing else spoke volumes of just how hurt he was, this did. So when, five minutes later, Albus was presented with a vial full of completed potion, he drank it without hesitation.

"See?" he said gently. "I am still myself. It wasn't the potion. I truly love him."

But it did not seem to satisfy the German wizard. The next thing Albus knew, he was being held at wandpoint.

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

Nothing happened. Slightly incredulous but more amused than ever, Albus opened his mouth to assure him there was no need for more tests, but the wand rose yet again.

At that very moment, the front door opened, and they froze on the spot. The cough they had just heard distinctly belonged to Madam Bagshot. Within seconds, she entered the parlour, clad in a travelling dress and followed by Gellert, who was carrying her bags.

Both newcomers gaped at the sight of Dieter towering over Albus with his wand drawn, as if prepared to hex him. Behind them, purplish smoke was coming out of the cauldron in spiralling rings.

"Well, well, well, if this isn't an exciting return home," Bathilda commented sardonically. "Good to see you weren't bored in my absence. May I ask, my boy, what exactly you were going to do to Albus?"

"Uff..."

"The Tickling Charm?" Gellert suggested smoothly.

"That's right," Albus said, forcing his face into a more serious expression. "My apologies for the mess, Madam Bagshot. I had a bit of an argument with my brother earlier this morning. Dieter was only trying to cheer me up."

She made an _Ah_ of dismissal. "And what is the Potion for?"

Dieter gulped. "Um... ve... I... um..."

"I asked them, Auntie," Gellert intervened once more, "in case I had headache again."

She snorted. "Mind that you clean it up—your guest, your responsibility," she commanded to her grand-nephew, and with one stern glance at Dieter, she shuffled out of the room, mumbling something where the words _snowflake_ , _damsels_ and _my times_ could be distinguished.

Albus tugged at his collar, embarrassed but grateful to see the situation smoothed out.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asked Dieter quietly.

The other boy's face was beet red. "Don't zay eet."

His eyebrows raised, Gellert approached the Potions corner to clean the mess. Albus was quick to join him; he could not bear to see Bathilda treat Gellert as a house-elf of sorts.

"How have you been?" he whispered.

But there was no time for an answer; the witch was already back.

"Albus, my boy, what are you doing? No, no, Gellert will clean it up. The Tickling Charm, eh?"

Reluctantly, Albus retreated after catching Gellert's head shake, which warned him not to argue with Madam Bagshot.

"It's useful, Auntie," Gellert declared. "Albus had the whole table laughing at its mention."

"Ah, yes, that party. Who allowed you to leave, Gellert?"

The witch was at her most intimidating, and Albus saw his own involuntary cringe mirrored in Dieter's posture.

"Auntie—"

"You live under my roof, and you'd do well to remember it. I am very disappointed. Albus, my boy, now I am sure _you_ did not know it was happening behind my back, but next time my Gellert invites you _anywhere_ , you will tell me first."

"Yes, Madam Bagshot," Albus said, praying she never found out he had taken advantage of her absence to spend the previous two nights in her house. "I apologise."

"Who hosted that ball again?" she went on.

"Olivia Amaranta," Gellert answered, "from the Ollivander family."

"Hmph." It was obvious Bathilda was trying and failing to find something wrong with that surname. She was, after all, an elitist herself, and the Ollivanders were highly regarded in England. "Did you enjoy yourself, Albus?" she asked stiffly.

"Oh, yes, very much, Madam Bagshot," he admitted.

"Well, I hope you have at least met pretty witches."

This was the very last thing Albus wanted to hear, especially in Gellert and Dieter's presence. He thought his face had turned redder than Bathilda's scarf.

"I... um... very pretty, yes."

The witch laughed heartily at his expression. "Oh, just look at you, my dear boy—nothing to be ashamed of. Merlin, you must be starved for witches' company. If there is anything good to have come out of it, this is it."

She then looked sternly at her great-nephew. "Now be honest, Gellert, was it a decent event? I have a great respect for Mr Ollivander, but his brother's daughter down in Italy… who knows what a spoiled brat she might be? There were no half-breeds, I hope?"

"No, Auntie. Mostly Beauxbatons students from good families."

"Very well, then. But this is the last time you have pulled such a stunt, am I clear, Gellert? My roof, my rules."

"Yes, Auntie."

Her preaching completed, Madam Bagshot turned back towards Albus, her eyes narrowed in a shrewd manner, as though she were about to produce a surprise.

"Speaking of witches, my boy, I have news for you. While I was in London, I made the acquaintance of Mr Flourish's nephew, who has a daughter your age. A very lovely girl, who aspires to become a librarian. Now I know of your circumstances, but it is never too early to plan ahead."

It was perhaps fortunate Albus had remained seated, for he would have tripped in shock. Eyes wide, he stared back at Bathilda.

_Surely she did not mean what he thought she meant._

"Is she pretty?" Gellert's voice cut in, sounding amused.

"Hush, Gellert. Honestly! Better make yourself useful. Albus, would you like to have some tea?"

"I'm good, Madam Bagshot, thank you." Albus felt winded, as though he might just faint from the panic. He could not believe the witch had sprung this up on him today, of all times. He had woken up so happy. "I… I thank you for thinking of my interests, but I'm in deep mourning. I'll be in mourning for the next six months." He coughed, making his voice steadier. "Besides, my father held the belief that men in our station should not think of marriage before attaining at least thirty years of age. By that time, we might have something to offer to a respectable bride. Right now... it's not the case."

He did not need to elaborate that unless he found a job, his own siblings would be viewed as no better than paupers before long.

"Ah, dear Percival came from a different generation," Bathilda said dismissively, waving her hand. "Times have changed, my boy. We do what we have to do to help our relatives, and an alliance with the Flourish family would be more than respectable—even though the man is one miserly publisher, I'll tell you that. Those so-called _businesswizards_ of today have no shame. Still, this might be the answer to your predicament. Don't you think so, Gellert?"

"Oh, Auntie, I could hardly presume to give advice on such a matter."

Dieter looked on as his friend cleaned the mess he and Albus had produced. Truth be told, he was unsure who he should feel sorry for: Madam Bathilda or Albus. Frankly, all she had to do was pay attention to the way the English wizard was eyeing her grand-nephew.

"True there, you can hardly give advice on any matter," she sneered at Gellert before turning back to their guest. "I've been thinking dear Albus ought to meet lovely Miss Flourish. What do you say, my boy? After all, you may be freshly out of Hogwarts, but you are almost of age by Muggle standards too, are you not? And this arrangement might be exactly what you need. A young man should not be locked up home all day."

Albus suppressed a sigh. He was afraid of contradicting Madam Bagshot, who was known for her rather virulent temper and was more than capable of forbidding him from coming to visit Gellert, should he displease her. He thought quickly, hoping a compromise might be his salvation.

"Very well," he said. "I do trust Mr Flourish is a respectable wizard. If he understands my family circumstances, can he wait until I'm in half-mourning before a meeting is arranged? This way, no one will be offended, and propriety will have been maintained."

It bought him some two and a half months of time, but it was a start.

"Of course, of course—fear not, my boy, I have already explained your situation to Mr Flourish, and he understands some time should be allowed. But oh, who else will take care of you, Albus dear?"

She smiled at him in a self-satisfied fashion, but her smile turned sour upon glancing at her grand-nephew.

"Now, Gellert, I've made a list of chores for you. Let me see; yes, right here... Can't have idling in here."

Albus stood up, doing his best to keep his face straight so Bathilda would not see how much her treatment of Gellert upset him.

"I ought to go, Madam Bagshot," he said. "Thank you very much for looking out for me. Is it all right if Gellert comes to visit me at his convenience? To meet my brother and sister."

The German wizard promptly seized the pretext. "And may I walk Albus home, Auntie? To arrange the best date for my visit."

"Oh, very well. I take it Albus has told you about his predicament? I only mean to say, it is best to be warned about poor Ariana's condition, my boy. How is she, the dear thing?"

"Thank you; I dare say she is doing better," Albus replied. "She misses our mother, but thanks to you and to Mr and Mrs Potter, she now has a friend she dotes on."

"Poor thing, poor thing," Bathilda sighed. "Ah, bless dear Euphrosyne. I am happy to hear that, my boy—give her my best. Well, what are you waiting for, Gellert? Make it quick; I've prepared quite a list for you. Merlin knows you need discipline."

A moment later, having said their goodbyes, the two young men went out of the door. Albus felt so annoyed with Madam Bagshot that it took him a few seconds to find his voice.

"Are you all right, Gellert?"

"Certainly," the blond wizard said lightly. "I'm curious, though—what is it the two of you were doing back there?"

Albus's smile was faint; he had been so amused just before the witch's arrival. "Dieter and I had a talk. I was, I believe, a little passionate while expressing my feelings. It gave him the idea I might not be entirely in my right mind."

"Should I be asking how _passionate_?" Gellert laughed. "Or rather not?"

"I might have let slip something about not deserving you, or about being willing to give my life and magic for you," Albus admitted, looking down playfully before his smile sobered. "But he poured out his heart too, though in a much more contained manner than I did."

Gellert was still chuckling as he imagined Dieter's facial expression at such a confession. "What did he tell you? That I was a bad Dark wizard who's forcibly holding him in Auntie's basement?"

"Metaphorically," Albus admitted with a sigh. "As far as I can tell, Dieter has never stopped considering you his closest friend—perhaps even his only friend. When you made new friends and moved dorms, he didn't understand why you did it. He felt—still feels—that you stopped liking him. It left a wound. Being a remarkably loyal person, he can't conceive that you did it for his own sake."

"Dieter exaggerates," Gellert asserted, sighing as well.

Albus met his gaze, his earnestness back in place. "If you can, maybe you could consider talking to him about it?" he suggested. "There is no need for this misunderstanding to go on any longer. He wants nothing more than to feel you are friends again. It's difficult to be alone and hurt for no reason. And for your part, you don't deserve to receive reproaches when you only meant well. Please, Gellert."

The German wizard frowned, contemplating him.

"I will speak to Dieter," he promised. "But you know, not all of my friends are this dramatic. I'd like you to meet them sometime."

"You say Dieter is dramatic, and yet my declarations have shocked even him," Albus pointed out, smiling. "Are you sure you don't like drama? And thank you; I will be pleased to meet your other friends. Who are they?"

He wondered if those were the friends Dieter had mentioned. If so, he had better see them for himself; it was hard to fight an invisible enemy.

"A few wizards, two or so witches too; we know each other from school. Perhaps _friends_ would be too generous a word. Associates, that is: people of influence I get along with."

Albus nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Maybe not all of those were as bad as Dieter had said, but if they were the ones who had driven Olivia away, he had to be on his guard. And Gellert needed Dieter fully back on his side. One could have hundreds of associates, but true, loyal friends could be counted on one hand.

"I'd like to meet them. And for your part, you will meet my family. I'll make you sandwiches with the best goat cheese in Godric's Hollow."

Gellert smiled. "When would be the best time for me to come over?"

"Could you join us tomorrow for afternoon tea?" At the other wizard's acquiescence, Albus went on. "And Gellert, tell Dieter that your associates are only that—associates, not true friends like him. It will make him feel better."

Gellert slightly narrowed his eyes.

"You two have become close, haven't you?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Devotion is often underestimated," Albus mused. "As is the Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts. You are lucky to have his loyalty. And I hope he'll understand I'm not a threat to your mutual friendship. All I want is to make you happy, Gellert."

"I'm glad the two of you have become friends," Gellert admitted. "And don't worry, I'll talk to him. I know you are far from a threat, and I hope your sister and brother will like me—or at least not hate me, for I am not a threat either. Not to you."

"I know," Albus smiled, shaking his hand in goodbye. "Until tomorrow. Don't let Madam Bagshot marry you off."

"Don't worry, she will not. I'll be there tomorrow."

With this, they parted, and while Gellert turned to go back, Albus walked inside his house, his mind brimming with happiness. His smile, however, froze on his face as he met his brother's glower. The latter must have glimpsed them together from one of the windows.

"You said you were going to stay away from that scum of a Dark wizard."

The harsh greeting was enough to erase the traces of mirth from his face. Albus took off his jacket to arrange it on the coat stand.

"I said nothing of the sort. You ordered me to stay away from him, expecting me to obey as though I had no will of my own. Well, I refuse."

It was true; Aberforth could not argue that Albus had made a promise.

"When does he leave? I don't want him near our house—I don't want him in our village at all. And most of all, I don't want him near you or Ari."

"I'm of an age when I can take care of myself and of our sister," Albus reminded him. "He is not going to hurt anyone. The only one who is acting in a hostile manner is you, Aberforth."

"You are never even around our sister!" Aberforth declared accusingly. "And how can you protect anyone when you are so blind where he's concerned?"

Albus was starting to have enough. The way Gellert was being treated was simply intolerable. Madam Bagshot spoke of him as of a spoiled child who deserved to play the house-elf for a summer; Dieter begrudged him a gesture that had been done for his own protection; and Aberforth seemed to consider him a human version of a Basilisk without having ever spoken to him. And whenever Albus destroyed one of his arguments, his brother would simply ignore it and find a new angle for attack.

"Once and for all, just because he went to Durmstrang doesn't mean he is going to come and Curse our family." It took him effort to keep his voice calm. "He is a decent and gentle person, and he is also my friend. I want to see him for as long as he stays in the village. That's all there is to it."

Aberforth's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by _friend_? When did that happen? I thought you last saw him when the Potters gave you the elf."

Incredibly, Albus felt like laughing, but he reined that impulse in. Being checked for spells once that morning had been enough.

"Madam Bagshot wants to see me married," he said, changing the topic completely. "She even found me a bride, one Miss Flourish. What do you say?"

"Married?" Aberforth echoed, wrinkling his nose.

"I'm glad we agree."

With a small smile, Albus proceeded into the kitchen.

"You know… if she takes well to Ari, I'm all for it," Aberforth said suddenly. "Only, she has to be a Light witch."

_This could not be happening. And indeed…_

"Will there be a meeting?"

"Not before the deep mourning is over." Albus now regretted mentioning that piece of news. It had been thoughtless.

"As if you were really mourning," Aberforth objected with a shrug. "But fine, I guess we won't tell Ari yet. It's nice that the gossiping hag is looking after you. She likes you better than me or Ari. Now only this scum of a relative of hers should disappear, and it will all be good."

"Don't call him that," Albus snapped before he could stop himself. "Be civil, and then people _will_ like you."

"I am watching you," his brother hissed back. "Don't even _think_ I'll let him anywhere near us, understood?"

And he was gone to pursue his chores, taking Albus's assent for granted once again. As Albus turned his mind to teaching the elfling several new spells, he found himself wishing summer never ended.

 

**AN:** All righty, so we are at the "family is meeting my boyfriend" stage. Be honest, dear readers, are you entertained? Are you enjoying the story? 

By the way, we totally picture Batty Bagshot as similar to Lady Bracknell. A savage Victorian lady, anyone?


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

It was a cloudy day. Warm wind tossed Ariana's skirts about her as she stood in the garden, watching occasional witches and wizards stroll along the street. She could hear goats bleating in the shed and owls flying ever so often over the house—familiar sounds. At a certain point, Mr and Mrs Potter came out of their cottage, dressed in fancy clothes and accompanied by their little son. They disappeared behind the corner, leaving Ariana feeling a little bored. Tugging restlessly at a stray thread on her shawl, she wondered whether she ought to make a wreath out of the sparse flowers on the lawn when her eyes caught movement across the street. A young man had come out of Bathilda Bagshot's house. She concealed herself behind a tree, peeking out breathlessly to see where he was going. Tall and blond, he carried himself with easy confidence. He headed right for their house and reached the front gate in a matter of heartbeats, opening it to come in.

Ariana barely dared to breathe. The suspense was growing in her mind, and so was fear, exponentially so. And then, out of nowhere, something landed on her head; something that was _moving_. She screamed. Breaths, fast and impossible to contain, tore out of her chest. Unaware of jumping aside, she focused on keeping as still as possible lest her heart jump out of her ribcage.

Little by little, the overwhelming sensation abated. Something else manifested itself instead: a whooshing sound and physical pain. Bizarrely, this was what helped her unfreeze.

The young man who had intruded into their yard was a little distance away. He was holding himself, in fact, on her level, making no sign of wanting to approach her, though he held out something towards her. Now the whooshing sound made sense: it had been the Summoning Charm. She was familiar with it, for her brothers used it.

"A caterpillar," the stranger said. "It fell down on your head and seems to be as scared as you are."

Ariana stared at him. Her scream had alerted her brothers, both of whom sprinted out of the house and to her side.

"Ari! Ari, are you alright?" Aberforth demanded frantically.

"You need to take a look at that knee," the stranger added, which helped Ariana realise where the pain came from. She had scraped her knee while trying to get away.

"Gellert!" Albus exclaimed, delighted. "I'm glad you've come."

He put his arms around Ariana, his face alight with happiness. "Are you feeling all right, Ari? What's that?" Bending down to glance at her knee, he gave it a tap with his wand so that the wound disappeared. "Don't be afraid, darling. This is a very good friend, Gellert."

Giving the stranger a thorough look, the girl pressed herself closer against Albus but seemed otherwise calmer. She stretched out her hand, and Gellert handed her the caterpillar, which proceeded to crawl over her palm. It was fairly large.

"Are you from school?" she asked, looking up.

"Yes, but from a different school. I live over there." Gellert pointed at Bathilda Bagshot's house.

"You talk funny," she remarked.

"I am not from here."

"But you are here… How can you not be _from_ here?"

"I've only come for summer," Gellert explained. 

"So you will leave?" Ariana paused. "My brothers always leave for school. I have never been there."

By this point, Aberforth appeared to have had enough. "Albus's friend has to go, Ari. Don't you?"

The last part had been meant for Gellert. And unlike many people in his place, the latter refused to be intimidated.

"It's all right, I am not in a hurry."

"So you've come for tea?" Ariana asked.

All adults ever did was drink tea, as if there was nothing better to do. It was therefore always a safe option to bet on, and she guessed Albus's friend would behave no differently. She was right.

"Yes, for afternoon tea."

Beaming, Albus turned towards the front door, where they saw an elfling peering out at them.

"Quaffy, why don't you serve our guest some tea and sandwiches and scones? Remember how to?"

The elfling gave a nod and scurried away on tiny legs. Albus looked back at the blond wizard, keeping a reassuring hand on Ariana's shoulder in case her nervousness had not yet entirely passed.

"Come on in, Gellert. It's nice there in the back garden. We can have some seats."

But before his friend could do more than take a step, Aberforth blocked their path, his face set.

"Ari, are you sure Quaffy remembers how to make tea?" he asked in a falsely light voice.

"I'm sure Albus has taught him to."

"Yes, but Quaffy is only learning. Do you think you could help him?"

Ariana nodded. "All right. I don't want any, so… three cups."

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried away, halting only to address Gellert. "I haven't introduced you to Quaffy yet. Would you like to meet him? Albus got him for me."

"I'll be happy to meet Quaffy," Gellert assured her.

"We'll join you shortly," Aberforth added.

With a smile, the girl ran inside the house. The moment she was out of earshot, Aberforth came closer, pushing Albus out of the way to grab Gellert by his waistcoat. It was by virtue of being athletic and clearly prepared for this aggressive move that the German wizard remained steadily balanced.

"Get out of here," Aberforth hissed. "And stay away from us, do you hear me?"

"Aberforth!" Albus cut in, his eyes flashing. "Don't you dare. Release him at once."

"Stay out of it, Albus; it's for your own good too!"

Being younger, Aberforth was on a shorter side, more like Dieter, though he was stocky and had a lot of anger to support him. Yet even so, Gellert was not alarmed in the slightest.

"Listen to your brother, Aberforth," he said calmly. "You are not doing anyone any favours. All three of us have promised Ariana to have tea."

Aberforth glared at him. It was obvious he wished nothing more than to punch Gellert and then Curse him into oblivion.

"You think you're such a smooth talker, don't you? I can see right through you!"

"Aberforth, don't force me to use my wand," Albus intervened again, growing more tense with every second.

Gellert's reaction was unexpected: grabbing Aberforth's wrist, he twisted it slightly, forcing the latter to let go of him on the spot.

"We will not duel in front of the girl," he said with an air of finality. "I've come to see Albus."

Once released, the youngest wizard massaged his wrist, his stare one of sincere hatred. He turned towards Albus.

"How dare you invite him here? Don't you see what he is? You want Ari to be around this monster?"

"For the last time, be quiet," Albus snapped, hoping his voice did not carry to the house. "I will suffer no insults against my friend. Don't even think of attacking him again or upsetting Ari."

He bypassed Aberforth and led Gellert into the back garden, where a table and a few seats were on display. Just as tea was served, materialising on the terrace table by elf magic, he Summoned a few rare books from his room, trying his best to make the blond wizard comfortable. Aberforth, in the meantime, found himself a chair a little distance away, touching nothing. He watched the guest as though hoping to kill him with his gaze, undeterred by Albus's repeated furious looks in his direction.

"How is Dieter today?" the latter asked at last, grateful his brother was silent, if nothing else.

"He's all right—trying to get in Auntie's good graces," Gellert admitted. "He would have loved to come, but… I wasn't sure if it was appropriate."

It was left unsaid this precaution had been necessary for Ariana's sake. After having been attacked by a group of boys, meeting too many male strangers could easily spook her. Albus nodded in understanding.

"Have the two of you had a talk?" he asked tentatively.

"I tried." Gellert smiled. "He's very stubborn, you know. You should come around more often; he is much more courteous around you. I wonder if it's due to the impact of your refined English manners…"

His smile widened. It was their private joke: Madam Bagshot had been hoping Albus's influence would improve Gellert's behaviour.

Albus suppressed a grin. "Then I will talk to him again, unless you'd rather I was present while the two of you speak. It's just that I wouldn't want to intrude if what you have to discuss is personal. He'll come around, I'm sure."

"He will," the other wizard agreed.

"I thought he might like the local library. It's very close, just a few streets away. They have all the classics, and some German titles too. You can borrow whatever you like; just say I'm taking the responsibility for the books. The librarian is a nice lady."

"Dieter will love it; he is an avid reader," Gellert said approvingly. "For my part, I thought we could discover the area around the village. What do you think?"

"It's very beautiful around here," Albus nodded. It was not easy to keep excitement from reflecting in his eyes. "A little way to the west, there are moors, and up towards the north, a small lake. You will find Muggle villages further away, but Muggles never venture very close. There is very ancient magic around Godric's Hollow. Legend has it that the Three Brothers founded it—the ones who defeated Death. But it's not quite true; historical sources show it's older than that."

"I want to see everything," Gellert admitted with a jovial smile at Aberforth's glare.

Fortunately perhaps, Ariana chose that moment to join them. She inspected the table, as if to make sure Quaffy had levitated everything correctly, and upon seeing Aberforth sitting on his own without refreshments, she took it upon herself to bring him a cup. He was forced to accept, and she happily turned towards their guest.

"So you live with Madam Bagshot? I see her sometimes on the road. She greets me when she spots me. Sometimes, she comes over too; she seems nice, but she always speaks very slowly to me.”

Gellert grimaced playfully. "She does the same to me."

The girl giggled before sharing in a conspiratorial tone, "But Albus likes her; he often goes to see her."

Something about the way she spoke enraged Aberforth even further. Deliberately, he dropped his saucer, causing it to break with a thud.

"Enjoying your tea?" he as good as snarled at Gellert.

Albus glanced up, distracted and exasperated. He had only just been admiring the way his friend had won Ariana over. How significantly would her health improve if only Gellert could spend more time around them!

"Aberforth, honestly."

The saucer fixed itself with a wave of his wand, but Ariana's good mood had vanished. She looked at Aberforth as if he had slapped her, and Albus understood an instant later what was wrong. She had taken their altercation personally.

"I'm not upset," he said quickly, putting a kiss on Ariana's hand. "It's all good, my darling. I am clumsy as well."

"You don't want me here," the girl complained, the tears in her eyes starting to spill.

"Yes, we do." He enfolded her in his arms, hoping to comfort her before she became even more upset. "Of course we want you, darling. We love you very much. I love you, and Aberforth loves you, and Quaffy loves you. And Gellert here has come to meet you precisely because I told him all about you."

Albus glanced at his friend, silently begging him to understand. Gellert had been observing the exchange, his eyes darting between the three siblings, taking in their strained family dynamics.

"Ariana," he spoke gently, "you said you would introduce me to Quaffy."

Distraction was not merely a trick taught in duelling; it was equally the best bet in situations such as this. And a few tense moments later, it proved to be efficient. Peeking from under Albus's shoulder, the girl slowly nodded. She wiped her tears and hurried inside the house while Albus sat down again, feeling dejected. He could think of nothing suitable to say to Gellert, either in thanks or in apology—nothing that words could accurately express. In the end, he gave him a small nod before glancing at Aberforth, who had slumped back in his seat. Albus did not need words to make it understood that he would Silencio him at the very least if he caused more trouble.

Ariana promptly returned, leading the elfling by the hand.

"This is Quaffy," she said. "Quaffy, this is Albus's friend, Gellert."

The elfling made an endearing if awkward bow, his huge blue eyes timidly curious.

"Hello, Quaffy," Gellert said in greeting. "Albus is teaching you a lot of exciting magic, isn't it so?"

Quaffy nodded. He was still a baby and was yet learning to speak, though he already understood the larger parts of the daily conversations.

"He knows how to dust and sweep," Ariana said proudly, "and can make breakfast. He is getting very good at levitation—well, you saw it. Soon, he will learn to cook easy dishes, won't you, Quaffy?"

The elfling nodded, watching her with trusting affection.

"You are a very talented elfling, Quaffy," Gellert commended.

"And I can play with Quaffy when Albus is not teaching," Ariana added merrily.

"That's good. Do you ever play outside?"

"No, only in the house," she admitted.

At this, Aberforth raised his head, his gaze positively murderous. It did not go unnoticed, but Gellert ignored him.

"I used to chase garden gnomes when I was bored," he said. "It was a long time ago; we had so many of them… Do you have them here as well?"

"They are afraid of Abe's goats," Ariana giggled. "Even though goats don't eat them."

"The goats are not mean, are they?" Gellert asked, feigning just a little sincere fear for Ariana's sake.

His talent for making everyone feel valued and special never ceased to amaze Albus.

Indeed, the girl's good spirits were back as though she had never burst into tears. "Nooo! Only to Albus's books."

This amused Gellert to no end. He turned towards his friend. "Did the goats get some of your books then?"

"Alas, it's a true story." Playing along, Albus made a show of gathering his rare books in a protective embrace and peeking around, as if worried there could be goats on the loose. As intended, it made his sister laugh even more. "My prized collection of medieval poetry. Gluttonous animals."

"Look at the bright side: you got very poetic cheese out of them," Gellert smiled.

The conversation flowed just as pleasantly afterwards, and by the time the tea, the scones and the sandwiches were finished, the three of them were perfectly cheerful. Aberforth had not softened in the slightest, but it was manifest he would do nothing to upset his sister again. At last, Gellert gave Albus a subtle sign, and the latter nodded, catching on.

"Ari, it is time for Gellert to go for today. Let's wish him a nice evening."

Ariana did so with an almost regretful smile, accepting his thanks for the tea. To Aberforth's dismay, she even mustered the courage to ask the blond wizard to come and visit them again soon before disappearing inside the house with the elfling. The two friends headed for the front gate.

"Thank you for coming, Gellert, truly," Albus whispered. "I'm so sorry about Aberforth. You will let me know when you want to go out, won't you?"

He had to fall quiet after this, for his brother reached them, rounding on Gellert immediately.

"I don't ever want to see you again!" he growled.

The blond wizard considered him, his expression calm. "All right, if my presence is so unbearable to you, I will, by all means, leave you alone. But if you'll allow me, your attitude towards your sister does her more damage than good. By keeping her so isolated, you feed into all the fears she has developed, and that is very dangerous. Selfish too, I have to say. What would it cost you to accept an occasional dinner invite and bring her along? No one is going to harm her in this small wizarding village."

"Shut it!" Aberforth hissed. "I can see very well what you are doing, even if my brother is too stupid to. And I'm warning you: do not come to this house ever again."

"You have no authority to forbid anyone from coming," Albus reminded him in a steely voice. "If you have forgotten, I'm the head of the family. Besides, Gellert is right."

To his surprise, it was his friend who answered.

"Albus, if Aberforth doesn't want to see me again, he has the right not to."

"Look who's talking again!" Aberforth grimaced before turning to Albus. "Don't you see how he's manipulating you?"

"That being said," Gellert went on, "you cannot forbid me from seeing Albus either—or even Ariana if she wants to, for that matter. So should you change your mind, Auntie's dinner invitations always extend to the two of you as well. Think about what I said. Your sister is desperate to learn to trust someone outside of her home. She cannot go on living in fear of the entire world."

Albus could not help but reflect on the amount of truth in those words. He should have thought of it years ago.

"I agree," he uttered. "I wonder how I've never seen it myself. I promise I will discuss this with Aberforth. And Gellert, thank you very much for coming. Please give my regards to Dieter and Madam Bagshot. I will see you soon."

With one last goodbye, Gellert was gone. Albus barely resisted shooting a dark look in his ever-angry brother's direction, but he decided against spoiling the day even further. Instead, he headed straight for the house.

"Stop!" Aberforth yelled after him. "Albus!"

Albus halted but did not turn around. He waited, wishing he could simply Disapparate.

"For how long have you been lying to me?"

Something about the younger boy's voice was graver than usual. Albus looked at him but did not reply.

"You weren't at the Leaky Cauldron that night, were you?" Aberforth went on ominously. "Nor was there a book event later on. You were with him. All this time, you were—"

"I wouldn't lie to you if you didn't pretend to be in charge of my life and to tell me whom I may or may not like," Albus retorted.

"I am trying to protect us! Have you really fallen for that smooth talk of his? He is up to no good. I can _sense_ it."

"I know him significantly better than you do. I've talked to him, I know about his past life. He deserves all of our respect and friendship."

"You've never paid attention to the fact that the ugly hag you like so much doesn't really want him around? Why did he suddenly show up? Uninvited, no less. Because he was uninvited; otherwise, the whole village would have heard of his arrival weeks in advance. But no, he came unexpectedly, bringing his slave along. He's running from something. And he has Dark aura oozing from him in spades."

"He is a Dark wizard, I know that much. Once again, this doesn't make him a bad person. Nearly half the wizarding population consists of Dark wizards. As for coming here, he has his reasons. And don't you call Dieter a slave."

The argument was becoming more heated than ever, and neither brother was backing down.

"Listen to me, Albus. _Do not_ associate yourself with him. And most of all, don't you dare bring him into our family. He'll be leaving after summer; Dorothy found out from the hag. So let him leave, and in the meantime, do not let him anywhere near Ari! If you do, I will never forgive you."

Albus eyed him steadily, feeling vexed and, for some reason, hurt. Everything he did was always wrong. It had been this way with mother, and it was now this way with Aberforth. Furthermore, he had just been reminded of the brevity of Gellert's stay, which was becoming more and more painful for him to think of. He did not want to, not now. It was only the end of June, and he was happier than he had ever felt in his life.

"As opposed to everything else you've forgiven me for?" he asked quietly.

His brother only stared in response. Once again, the situation was salvaged by Ariana, who bounced to their side, radiant with excitement.

"Thank you for bringing him over, Albus!" she exclaimed. "He's so nice! And so handsome."

"I'm glad you like him," he smiled, reaching out to smooth her hair. "He is an extraordinary person."

"You've never brought your friends home before. Will he come again?"

"Ari!" Aberforth protested.

But for once, their sister acted similarly to Dorothy and Ada.

"What?" she asked playfully.

"You asked him, so I'm sure he will," Albus assured her. "True friends are rare, and he is one."

All Aberforth could do was observe, distressed, as Ariana kept shooting question after question about the foreign wizard. He hated how easily the foreign bastard succeeded in charming people. And to make matters worse, he had the impression that Albus had been looking at him during the tea drinking as if... But his mind refused to complete the thought.

Too incensed to spend another second in his brother's company, he turned on his heels and strode into the house.

 

 **AN:** hey dear readers, here is a short update. Ari just loves Gellert, isn't that heart-warming? Albus's family introduction went about as smoothly as it could have under the circumstances.


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

It was a small village, nestled at the very bottom of a vast green valley. A dozen houses, no more, lay snugly around an old church with a short yet majestic bell tower. From the hill, it was possible to glimpse Muggles walking from one house to the next, labouring in their gardens or herding cows and pigs in the green expanse. A few sparse trees and bushes rustled in the wind. 

A sense of peace and harmony filled Albus as he watched this painting-like scenery, his head propped against Gellert's shoulder. Hidden from view by a bubble of protective magic, they savoured their closeness, their limbs slightly heavy. There was, truly, something magical about that afternoon, which was now coming to a close. After leaving Godric's Hollow, they had Disapparated to the nearby moors, where the sky had been tinted with orange and the meadow with magenta. They had stayed there for a few tender hours before deciding to visit the most picturesque places in the surrounding countryside. This village was the last one they had agreed to see that day. Their basket lay a few feet away, now containing only a blanket, napkins and an empty bottle. They had eaten all their refreshments. Albus knew they would have to head home before it was dark; still, he wished this day never ended. 

"Don't tell me I've worn you out?" Gellert asked cheekily.

"Not at all," Albus smiled. "My lyrical side is moved, that's why I've been quiet. One of the activities I've never been very good at is painting, to be honest. Yet I have a feeling you excel at it."

It was true: despite their core similarities, they completed each other in many ways.

"I do paint, in fact," Gellert admitted. "Though perhaps not very often."

"I knew it. Make a guess about me—something you don't know for a fact."

"Let me see… You are fond of music, you are brilliant at Charms, you must be in correspondence with dozens of scholars, all of whom are amazed at the fact that a wizard this young is already so knowledgeable, and you have the spirit of an inventor. Is that correct?"

Intrigued, Albus sought out Gellert's eyes. "What gives you the idea I have the spirit of an inventor?"

"You marvel at simple things. It's a sign that you see the world differently. Combined with your excellent academic results, the potential is tremendous. I think you might just surprise the entire wizarding world one day."

It was difficult to hold back a blush at such words. Albus slipped his fingers through Gellert's. "You are too kind. I've had a few ideas, but there hasn't been enough time to develop them. I can only wish I had your gift of observation; it's even more precious. And had we studied together, you would have beaten me in most subjects, I'm sure."

"My interests are particular," Gellert said with a peculiar smile. "If we had attended the same school, it is possible we would have never crossed paths."

"How do you know I wouldn't have enjoyed the same pastimes?" There was now a teasing quality to Albus's voice. "What interests are those?"

The German wizard's handsome features were unreadable, his expression guarded.

"Getting myself in trouble," he finally confessed. "Tell me, though: I sensed a lot of anger in your brother when I visited yesterday. Why is that?'

His sudden gravity caused Albus to regain his soberness. He could tell Gellert's first sentence held a cryptic meaning that he was yet unable to interpret but which ought to be addressed when the right moment came. Could this be the reason behind Gellert's arrival to England? He pondered his answer, his eyes on the serene village.

"He has been this way ever since I can remember. I'm not sure why he... dislikes me so much. Maybe it _is_ because I've been dedicating more attention to my studies than to our home life. He doted on mother, and she..." He sighed, uncertain about the best way of formulating the truth. Expressing it out loud felt almost sacrilegious. "I suppose I didn't help them out enough."

Gellert said nothing at first. He could hardly admit to having used passive Legilimency on the younger Dumbledore, which had allowed him to guess as much.

"It's not your fault, Albus."

"I wouldn't mind so much if it didn't affect Ariana," the other wizard went on. "I can stand my ground, but she feels threatened at the slightest sound of an argument. What you said is true: she can't stay cut off from the world forever. Yet he seems to want the three of us to live in seclusion."

There was a sigh, and his companion asserted, "It just won't do. Despite the Obscurus inside her, she is still but a girl. She has been able to live in seclusion for this long because she has a rich inner world. Soon, however, she will start asking questions as to why she is different. She will observe the other village girls and wonder why she can't be like them. In my opinion, a female influence would do her good... Other than Auntie's, that is."

In spite of their sombre topic, he could not help but crack a smile. Albus grinned back, an idea taking root at the back of his mind. It was a bold idea, an impossible one perhaps, but it was worth tackling.

"I believe you are right. I will see if I can find a solution. It might be right in front of us..." He bit his lip, but then his expression softened. "Were you... were you happy at home?"

"Very," Gellert said softly. "I don't think I even realised back then just how much. My mother was frail of health, but my father carried all the burden on his shoulders in such a way that none was the wiser. I had a very happy childhood even though I had no siblings. Father always knew how to occupy me. It was only after he was gone and I had to become the head of my family and support my mother that I realised the full gravity of our loss. Mother tried to be stoic, but she just wasn't built for such a blow. She was frail, delicate, gentle… not at all like the witches I later met at Durmstrang—not like any other woman I know. She couldn't live without father. I suspect there were other reasons too... The whole village would point at us after father's arrest. Partly, it has to do with the German mentality. You see, we are, in general, very law-abiding people; when someone crosses the line, it is noticed immediately… Of course, they feared us too: they _felt_ we were different. The funny thing about Muggles is that they never truly voice the possibility of magic, but on some level, they know it exists. You know what happened then. Mother took her own life, and I couldn't stop her."

His gaze, fixed on the Muggle dwellings, was distant as he fell silent. Albus watched him, shaken to the core. It warmed his heart to know Gellert had experienced happiness at home, but on the other hand, this must have made the loss of everything he held dear all the more unbearable when the tragedy had struck. Albus could picture their family: a beautiful, delicate witch and a handsome wizard, half-German and half-English. And their only child: young Gellert with angelic features and a boyishly charming and brilliant personality. A family this good-looking, prosperous and harmonious in their love for each other had been certain to inspire jealousy in their Muggle neighbours.

"Your father was arrested on a false charge because those smaller people could not handle your family's happiness," he stated quietly. "You were all they wished to be."

"I loathed them so much, I feel my hatred then touched upon something truly insidious inside my magical core," Gellert confessed darkly, though he shook it off nearly at once. "But you know I have changed my views since."

He glanced at his companion, his composure back in place.

"How did we even start this topic? Ah, I know. You were secretly asking about Auntie, weren't you? Now that Ariana has told me you are rather fond of her, it finally makes sense." He playfully nudged Albus. "Well, she _is_ unmarried, that's true. But I'm not sure I'd be all right with it."

Albus could not have stopped himself from laughing if he had tried. No more could he help touching Gellert's cheek before kissing him. A little levity was exactly what they needed.

"But you _are_ fond of her, aren't you?" Gellert insisted, now a tad more serious. "Hasn't she been kind to you?"

"It's true," Albus nodded. "I first met her after my first year at Hogwarts. She was kind."

He paused as a frown settled on his brows. Why had she not done the same for her great-nephew? Why had she not taken him in when he had lost his parents?

"Gellert… You've never spent a summer here before, have you? Did she... not invite you?"

"No, she did not. The reason is simple: it was too inconvenient. That is exactly why she won't have Ariana around either, though she makes a show of calling her a _poor dear_ on every possible occasion. Auntie is not one to take responsibility for anything of the sort, let alone risk her comfort. But she _will_ go to extraordinary lengths to present herself as the most charitable witch in the world. Think about it: she extended a helping hand to you, a talented child who would never even think of stirring trouble. But had you been different, more like your brother, would she have done the same?"

The question was rhetorical. A greeting was all Aberforth or Ariana could ever hope to receive from Bathilda Bagshot.

"That's true." Albus was still frowning. He had always felt grateful to Madam Bagshot for having been warm towards him throughout the last years, warmer even than his own mother. And yet, now that he knew of her indifference towards Gellert—a child who had been going through the most difficult of trials on his own—he found he could not forgive her. "You mentioned you would get in trouble at school. Is it something you feel comfortable talking about?"

"Another time," Gellert said, placing an arm around Albus to pull him into an embrace. "It is too good of an afternoon to tarnish. Do you know what I am actually thinking about?"

"Tell me," Albus breathed, returning the gesture.

"How to help Ariana."

The English wizard considered him pensively. Could Gellert have heard of a way to do so at Durmstrang? It would likely belong to one of the Dark branches of magic, for Light Healing had nothing to offer in face of such a potent magical parasite.

"Are there any existing methods? A Healer examined her as a child and said her magical core had been broken and rendered unstable. His only recommendation was letting her stay in St. Mungo's... for life."

"If there was a defined method, we would already know of it. So, no, but this doesn't mean nothing _can_ be done. Healers focus too much on the _magical core_ —the afflicted person—rather than on the entity living inside the said afflicted person and eating away at his or her life force. What if we should focus instead on the parasite itself? What if we could extract it? Use it for something else even—not that I think this would be possible, though the extraction itself should be. In essence, we ought to treat it like an _animal_ of sorts: a separate being that could be lured out using bait. Without harming Ariana in the process."

This angle of thought had never even occurred to Albus, and he mused on the bold suggestion, absently stroking Gellert's shoulder. "If there are wizards who know how to do this, who have done it before, this could be the answer... I wonder: once the parasite is gone, will her magic stay intact? Our magic is inherent, I know, but is there a chance the Obscurus has impacted it for good?"

"Even if it has, the important thing to remember is that she won't be in mortal danger," Gellert pointed out reasonably. "Why should it matter—if it is indeed the case—that Ariana would live as a Squib? She can still be happy and grow and live. Neither you nor Aberforth would love her any less for it."

"Of course not," Albus assured him. "If there is a solution, this is it. There must be a witch or a wizard out there who knows more about this type of parasite and can help. Even if they are not in Europe, they could still be found."

"Absolutely. And in the meantime, we'll re-introduce her to society little by little. The stronger she is, the better she will feel about herself, and the less fearful she becomes, the better chance she will stand once a competent wizard comes along. In fact, let me consult literary sources as well, just to see how much information is available. An endeavour this important requires absolute certainty."

Albus nodded. He was so touched by Gellert's concern and desire to help his sister that he could find no adequate words to thank him.

"Oh, Gellert." He took a steadying breath and wiped moisture from his eyes. "I've been thinking... Mrs Potter is a very kind lady. We could invite her to meet Ariana; I'm sure they will like each other." He hesitated. "And later on... do you think Dieter might like to come over for a visit?"

"As long as it doesn't overwhelm Ariana, most certainly. He is not very thrilled at the prospect of having no company besides Auntie's for days on end. If, in fact, he confessed one day that he missed our room in Munich, I wouldn't be surprised." The blond wizard smiled. "And don't mention it. Ariana is a lovely girl, and she deserves only the best. I agree, Mrs Potter would be the exactly right influence."

His smile was mirrored in full measure, but something he had just said stirred Albus's curiosity.

"Your room in Munich?"

"We stayed there before coming here," came a somewhat evasive answer.

It was manifest that Gellert did not feel inclined to discuss the events that had led to his arrival to England just yet. Albus therefore let it go and embraced the other wizard, wishing he could spend every day of his life by his side.

"Is there any particular place you would like to visit next?" he asked. "Perhaps Hogsmeade? You and I and Dieter could go there one of these days."

"The famous wizarding village in Scotland Auntie always talks about?" Gellert specified. "Why, yes—what visit to the Commonwealth would be complete without it? But yes, we ought to take Dieter along. Grumpy though he is, I don't have the heart to leave him behind."

"We'll go, all three of us," Albus promised. "I wouldn't dream of leaving him behind. And perhaps... I could help you settle your differences. There is no reason to perpetuate them, none at all."

Gellert smiled but did not reply. For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence, and then Albus voiced the thought that had been nagging at him for days and days.

"What happens once summer is over?"

His companion sighed, as though the truth were genuinely heart-breaking to put into words.

"I will have to leave Aunt Bathilda's, Albus."

"I don't suppose there is anything I can say to change your decision?"

The answer had always been there at the back of their minds, inflexible, unavoidable. Still, it was too distressing not to at least try and defy it.

"You know, when I invited you to Olivia's Summer Solstice Ball, I was hoping you would meet a few of my friends. This way, we could stay in touch later on." Gellert sighed. "What were you going to do otherwise, Albus? What would you have done if I had never come here?"

Albus shrugged, his gaze distant. "I suppose I would have spent this summer at home. Planning on finding an employment. The truth is, ever since my father was arrested, we've been living off what he left us. Mother couldn't leave the house for long, not when Aberforth and I were at school. This money is almost gone. Now that I've graduated, I have to make sure my brother and sister don't starve." There was a pause. "Maybe we could still find a way to see each other at times? I'm sorry if I sound desperate, Gellert. Only, I meant what I said. I love you, and nothing is going to change it."

"Albus," the other wizard whispered, "please don't take it the wrong way, but I have money. I can help out a little. Initially, I was planning on keeping it all because I can't be looking for work at the moment, but you need it far more than I do."

Blinking in surprise and emotion, Albus pressed Gellert's hand in his own.

"Oh, Gellert. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I know you are offering this because you care about us, and it means everything to me. But I couldn't. Not when you have no other means of supporting yourself. Besides, as selfish as it sounds, I do need to get away for some periods of time. I'll go insane if I stay shut in the house. Why… why can't you be looking for work?"

The German wizard reflected for a few seconds on how to best approach the topic.

"Albus, remember how, at the Ball and then in your back garden, you mentioned that the Peverells used to live here?"

"I do."

"I had the time to conduct a small research when I was still at Durmstrang. A research on certain powerful magical objects." He drew a breath, wondering whether the next part would make him sound out of his mind. "I have reason to believe the popular tale is not merely a myth. The three brothers must have existed. They may not have encountered Death, but they did succeed in creating something powerful and dangerous. And whatever it is they created is very likely to be in existence to this day."

Albus absorbed the news. His mind jumped to the written works on the Deathly Hallows that he had so far come across. Had those provided Gellert with some sort of evidence? He himself, admittedly, had never researched the topic much; he had treated the tale as one of the legends surrounding the village—a tale that might or might not be rooted in reality. There was no particular reason as to why it could not be based on real historical events, as Gellert was suggesting.

"I see... So you would like to research the Hallows more closely? But then, wouldn't it be better to stay in England?"

"I will stay for as long as I can, though I will have to go soon; there are other circumstances. But Albus, you do believe it could be true?"

"I haven't looked into it too extensively, but I do think the tale, while embellished, might be grounded in a real past event, as many of them are," the English wizard replied. "After all, an elder wand, a cloak of invisibility and even—with some stretch of imagination—a certain form of the Resurrection Stone can be created by exceptionally skilled wizards."

"The Resurrection Stone does exist," Gellert declared. "I studied about it in Necromancy. It just often appears under different names."

Even though he knew Durmstrang did not shy away from educating their students on the Dark Arts, Albus blinked yet again. It felt odd to hear that word uttered so casually.

"If it is a proven fact, then the tale is all the more likely to be based on a real event. But Gellert, what is your interest in this?"

"Are you shocked to hear I've studied Necromancy?" Gellert frowned. "You don't have to be, Albus. It is safer to be informed on the dangers than to be blissfully unaware."

"No, I'm not shocked," Albus assured him. "Truly, I'm not. It's just that I've spent so much time at Hogwarts, where we weren't allowed to discuss such topics."

"Then we'd better hope none of the Hogwarts graduates ever attempt to meddle in this domain of magic. If you don't know what you are doing, the consequences will be disastrous."

But then he smiled and did something inexplicably sweet. Shifting closer to the English wizard, he slid an arm around him, embracing him yet again.

"You know, Albus, no magic is better than this. Right here. Right now."

"Very true," Albus murmured, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips. He had noticed that Gellert had not answered his question as to why the Deathly Hallows were important to him and wished he could know more. But he was not going to press his companion until the latter was ready to reveal his plans.

"Albus," Gellert breathed, "I now probably come across to you as an overly privileged airhead, especially when you have a family to look after. But I do want to find these objects… That is why, while I still have means to live off, I thought I'd look for them."

The other wizard studied him. "Why, Gellert? What do you feel they could be useful for?"

"Well, the Resurrection Stone is a highly Dark object, capable of the most potent form of Necromancy. The Cloak is just useful to have. But the Elder Wand… it will give protection. And once you have protection of any kind, those who would have otherwise ignored you will listen to you. And that is what I want: to make my voice heard." At the English boy's concerned expression, he hastened to add, "I wouldn't use the Stone. The wizards who do so are not right in the head. I'm not one of them."

For a long moment, Albus only gazed at him, trying to form those revelations into one complete picture. So many emotions filled his heart. Devotion and happiness. Gratitude for Gellert's eagerness to help his sister—which, he knew, was genuine and not in any way a show of wealth—and worry about the secrets he was yet to learn if his lover decided to share them. Yearning and sadness at the realisation that summer would slip between their fingers more swiftly than they could imagine. And more prominent than all of these, love.

What disturbed him so much was less the idea of dabbling in one of the Dark Arts and more the fact that something had caused Gellert to fear for his life. Why else would he be so interested in the magical objects that had been expressly designed to protect their owner from death? Could Aberforth be correct in his assumption that the German wizard was on the run? And if so, what was he in danger from?

Dieter's warning came forth one again: there had been children of powerful people at Durmstrang, and Gellert had socialised with them for years, unaware perhaps of the powerful effect he had on everyone around him. Did some of those wizards have something to do with his predicament?

Could it also offer an explanation as to why he found the Elder Wand a useful tool in his endeavour to make his voice heard? For Albus knew just how much the injustice of the wizarding laws and the Statute of Secrecy had shaped Gellert's life, how deeply they had affected him. It had been his motivation for joining the pureblood gang at school. And yet, he was now turning towards the Deathly Hallows for answers, as though influential people could no longer be trusted. It was alarming, every part of it, and more intensely than ever, Albus felt his fear for Gellert mount.

"I know you are not," he said quietly, and he meant it. "I will help you. We will find the Hallows."

 

 **AN:** This is the most romantic chapter yet. Finally, we see Gellert and Albus together and alone, where they don't have to keep up the appearances. But whether everything is sunshine and roses is another matter… You didn't think we'd forget about the Hallows, did you? Originally, the story was conceived way before Fantastic Beasts, so the main source is still the 7th book rather than the latest works. Please feel free to let us know what you think!


	11. XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

It was only one o'clock in the afternoon, but Albus felt the morning had been unusually productive, and his spirits were high as he walked home after dispatching a number of letters from the village's owl post. There was an overdue letter to his friend Doge, who was currently in Spain; a response to the wizard who had commented on his paper in _Transfiguration Today_ ; a letter to a renowned expert on Ancient Runes; and a request addressed to a London publisher for the newest and most highly regarded titles on the Deathly Hallows.

As he passed the cottage, he spotted Mr Potter teaching his little son to ride a child's broom and waved at them. The Potters were always pleasant to be around; they had the gift of cheering up all those who were in their proximity. It almost felt as though such people knew no sorrow, and Albus wished it were true, for the Potters deserved nothing less.

His house came into view, and with it the alarming sight of Aberforth snarling at Dieter. Clutching his hat, Albus hurried forward, reaching them just when the blond boy appeared to give up and turned away.

"Dieter, I'm here! Were you looking for me?"

For once, the German wizard's kind face was flushed in annoyance.

"I'm zorry to zay zis, Albus, but your brozer eez very rude."

Albus rounded on Aberforth. "What's wrong with you? Your behaviour is unacceptable! I'll deal with you soon enough. Dieter, I'm so sorry; please forgive us."

"Oh, unacceptable, is it?" his brother barked back. "Then get lost, will you? Go, crawl back to your master."

Dieter inhaled sharply and spun around, pausing only to address Albus.

"I just vanted to azk vot ingredients you used for ze potion against headache lazt time."

This stopped Albus in his tracks. "Does Gellert have a headache?"

The other boy nodded, unwilling to tell him more in front of an exceptionally angry Aberforth, whose face was twisted in a growl and whose wand was clutched so tightly in his hand that red sparks were shooting from its tip.

But Albus did not notice; the prospect of Gellert suffering from one of his devastating visions wiped everything else clean out of his mind.

"Oh, no," he gasped. "Dieter, let's go!"

He sprinted to Madam Bagshot's house without a backward glance. Barely bothering to knock twice, he threw the door open and ran towards Bathilda, who looked at him with some surprise despite her distinctly morose mood.

"Hello, Madam Bagshot," he panted. "Dieter just told me about Gellert's headache. Is it all right if I use your Potions corner again to prepare the drought I made the last time?"

"Oh, if you wish, certainly, my boy," she grumbled. "Although I believe you will be wasting your time; he is refusing to—"

But he was already at the cauldron, going through the potion supplies in as much hurry as this meticulous task would allow. Dieter caught up with him within a moment.

"Here." Albus enumerated the ingredients, demonstrating as he did so, "Here, two drops of Dittany, one spider leg, five ounces of Dragon blood, a leaf of Knotgrass. You have to pulverise that one very carefully. Now you add these, and you stir the mixture for three minutes. Does it make sense?"

Dieter nodded. Working along was something he excelled at: being a hands-on sort of person, he tackled any task requiring precise instructions without difficulty.

"Albus, I 'ave to varn you—he has not opened ze door to me. 'E 'as warded it. He doez not vant to zee me or Madam Bagshot. It 'as never 'appened before; usually, 'e eez very reasonable. Has 'e told you vot zis pain is?"

Albus nearly dropped the vial of Dragon blood. With an increasing sense of horror, he turned to look at the other wizard.

"Yes," he whispered, "yes... But what do you mean, he hasn't opened the door? Is he conscious? Is he too hurt to open?"

" 'E 'as to be conscious. 'E has _warded_ ze door; you 'ave to be capable of magic to do zis. 'E just doez not vant to zee me. Maybe 'e vill vant to zee you."

"Right." Albus pulled himself together. Dieter was correct on the magical wards requiring certain strength and concentration: Gellert could not have passed out from the pain, or the magic would have dissipated. It was more likely that his vision had revealed something truly disturbing. The thought made his blood run cold. "Right. Let's see... I'll just finish this."

He hastened to perform the last steps, poured the potion into a vial and ran upstairs to knock on Gellert's bedroom door.

"Gellert, are you all right? May I please come in?"

There was no response. The room was quiet as though there was no one inside, except Albus could feel magic vibrating through the wood. It occurred to him Gellert might not even be able to hear him through the wards. He knocked again.

"Gellert, it's Albus. I've brought you the potion. Won't you let me in?"

Nothing happened.

"Gellert, please! I'm so worried. Can you tell me if you're all right?"

Dieter appeared by his side, shrugging helplessly.

"Ve can try later," he suggested. "Do you vant to valk vith me?"

His words did not immediately register in Albus's panic-stricken mind. The latter passed a hand over the wooden surface of the door, sensing the magic.

"Does it block the noise?"

"I vouldn't know… family wards," Dieter explained.

He sounded genuinely sorry for Albus. Carefully, as if afraid to intrude, he tried to take the other wizard's arm to coax him away from the door.

With a sigh, Albus had to recognise there was nothing he could do no matter how hard he tried. He peered around before putting the potion vial next to the door.

"Gellert, if you can hear me, I'm leaving your potion right here. You will see it when you open the door. Please, talk to us when you feel better."

All he could now do was follow Dieter downstairs, where they heard Madam Bagshot mutter to herself.

"A grown boy, swooning at the slightest weather change like a little lady who has received her first love note. Durmstrang, my wand. What they charge all that gold for, now there's what the papers should be telling us. Never seen a wizard this stout sulking at a headache. And to refuse help and a potion! That is clearly not where his English blood is manifesting itself. Any Englishman would know better than to throw capricious fits in the house of his hostess."

Dieter gave Albus an uncomfortable glance. This would have been the right moment to say something clever, but he could think of nothing, not the least so because he was an unwelcome guest in the witch's home.

Albus let himself slide into an armchair, his heart still hammering in his chest. He had no energy to answer Madam Bagshot's rant, and besides, now that he could think more clearly, something much more frightening occurred to him. If the new vision had made such a strong impression on Gellert, it had to be so serious, so dreadful and so devastating that even he—a brave, composed wizard, always in control of himself—found it too much to handle. What if it had shown him the death of someone he cared about? Albus positively shivered at the idea of an accident happening to Dieter, or even Madam Bagshot. Or could it be him, Albus, who was in danger? The thought was not half as worrisome as the final and darkest idea. What if Gellert had foreseen some harm coming to himself?

"Madam Bagshot," he uttered, "the truth is, I feel under the weather as well. I... didn't sleep well last night. Would you mind terribly if I took just a drop of your Calming Potion?"

"No, not at all, my boy," Bathilda replied. "It is a funny day; I have been feeling a little peaky myself, except there is a difference between a delicate lady and a grown boy straight out of Durmstrang. Did you, by any chance, get into a row with your brother? He is a virulent boy—I hope you don't mind me saying so, Albus, dear. Perhaps a little too virulent sometimes."

He did not pause to wonder at the way she had changed her tune about the weather. He had no doubt that as soon as his back was turned, she would start muttering darkly on his frailty and the unsatisfactory mental balance of contemporary youth.

"Do you need any?" he asked Dieter, standing up, only to find himself light-headed.

The German boy shook his head. "You take zome. Um, are you too veak for a valk?"

"I will come," Albus promised, "in just a minute."

A dose of ready-made Calming Potion helped steady his frantic heartbeat and recover his façade, though it could not erase his worries.

"I'm ready," he announced a few minutes later.

With a goodbye to Madam Bagshot and one last, nervous look towards the first floor, he followed Dieter outside.

"I am zorry iff I insisted too much; I just vanted to talk," the latter uttered. "Eez zere a place?"

Albus nodded, avoiding the sight of his house in case angry Aberforth was still lingering in the garden. He led the way through two more streets, and after bypassing a chapel, they reached a small graveyard. Now that summer was there to stay, the place was shrouded in greenery. It was cool and very peaceful. A stone bench stood under a beautiful pine tree.

"Is this all right?" Albus asked. "No one comes here very often."

Dieter nodded, his eyes cautious as he considered Albus.

"You know, Gellert never told me vot zis head pain vas. It 'appens very rarely—before zis summer, it 'appened maybe only twice during all ze time I 'aff known him at Durmstrang. But you do know. You vent white in ze face."

It was not a question but a statement. In a way, Dieter clearly wished for answers. But those were answers Albus could not give him, for Gellert had chosen to keep his Sight a secret. Truth be told, that gift was so rare in itself that secrecy was sensible where it was concerned.

His expression was earnest yet apologetic when he met Dieter's eyes.

"I know what it is, but... it's not my secret to tell, Dieter. I'm sorry. I understand how harrowing it is to be left wondering." He paused. "You are an excellent friend, you know. I consider you one of my closest friends."

Dieter sighed. " 'Ow are you feeling? Better?"

"Physically, yes."

They sat down on the bench. Save for the rustling of the trees and the birds' chirping, the graveyard was silent.

"I'm sorry my brother was rude to you," Albus resumed. "I'm often at a loss. He won't listen to me."

"Eet eez all right." Dieter hesitated. "Gellert eez not dying or anyzing, eez he?"

"No. These headaches are exhausting, but they are not mortal."

Now was not the time to confess his fears regarding the ominous vision.

The blond boy nodded. "Did you… eez everyzing all right… between you and 'im?"

"As far as I know, we are all right." Albus paused. "When did it happen? For how long has he been refusing to talk?"

"Zince zis morning. 'E didn't 'ave breakfast ready. Madam Bagshot did not like zat."

Despite himself, Dieter sniggered, amused at the ways Gellert's great-aunt found to discipline him.

"Ve talked about your zister yesterday," he added. "Gellert really vants to 'elp."

"He does," Albus agreed, closing his eyes. "He truly does. And I wish Madam Bagshot had helped him the same way when he needed it most. Instead, she treats him like a house-elf."

Dieter frowned, unsure what the English wizard meant.

"I zink 'e secretly enjoys eet," he objected. " 'Aving an adult vho cares. I vould 'ave secretly enjoyed it too: just 'aving at least zome family left, 'aving a 'ome… Not being alone."

His words cut across Albus like a knife. He thought he could feel Dieter's pain and loss, the depth of his loneliness, as though they had swapped their minds. It was all the more heartbreaking because Dieter was among the most caring people he had ever encountered: worthy of love and able to offer so much of it in return. He contemplated him, his eyes gentle. There was nothing he could do about bringing his parents back to life, but he _could_ attempt to reconcile him with his best friend.

"You are not free to tell me why you have come to England, are you?" he asked.

"Gellert vill tell you," Dieter replied with a sigh. "I did not vant to come; I vos very angry viz 'im. But now… now I am tired of being angry. Eef eet vosn't for zat, I like it 'ere. I've met you. Maybe ve can be penfriends, like Archenhaud's friends suggested—after Gellert and I leave, zat eez. I vould like zat. Eef you vant."

"Very much," Albus admitted. The thought of the two of them leaving, on top of his worries for Gellert, made him even more emotional. "I have no idea how I'll go on once you and Gellert depart. But Dieter, believe me, he never stopped caring about you. Those Durmstrang snobs are nothing to him but allies, associates, contacts. You are a true friend. Only you can decide if you want to forgive him, but perhaps he deserves a second chance."

"Oh, Albus, you 'ave fallen for 'is spell," Dieter groaned, looking positively sympathetic. "I _ztill_ don't understand 'ow. ‘Ow does 'e do zat to people? Just 'ow?"

"Oh, Dieter." Despite his nearly tearful state, Albus let out a chuckle. "Do you really believe yourself immune to it? You care about him—after everything that has happened, you never stopped being his friend. Isn't it a sign that he is not as bad as you may wish to think?"

"Zat eez ze scary part," the blond boy admitted, grinning slightly against his better judgment. "But you know vot eez even scarier? I 'ad zis converzation before wiz Olivia. Zat eez ze zing wiz Gellert: 'is company eez addictive zomehow, and vhen 'e eez being nice, eet eez difficult to ztay angry wiz 'im."

"That's true. It is his gift, but also his curse. How many people will crave his company in the most selfish manner imaginable? And how many will loathe him out of pure jealousy if nothing else? I wish I were wrong, but I'm afraid that when he tries to make his voice heard, he will have enemies, many of them. And when this happens... Olivia has to follow her duty, but he still has you and me, Dieter. At some point, maybe this will make a difference and save him. We ought to look out for each other. I won't let those ruthless purebloods tear him apart for their own enjoyment."

"Vhy are you zo convinced 'e eez blameless, Albus?" Dieter asked seriously. "Nobody told 'im to get involved wiz ze most snobbish group at ze entire Durmstrang. Eet vos 'is choice; nobody forced 'im to make it. And eef zere eez anyzing about choice zat I know for a fact, eet eez zat ze choices ve make reflect vho ve are."

"But how else can he gain the necessary influence and notoriety in order to make an impact on our society?" Albus asserted. "You've told me yourself: his name does not hold much sway in the larger picture. He was trying to build an alliance at school, and that is why he got involved. Not because he enjoyed their company more than yours."

"I vish you 'ad right." Dieter sighed yet again. "Eef I may… Gellert zaid you 'ad problems wiz gold, or? Mozt of my gold vent for ze tuition fee, but iff you need 'elp, I can zee iff I haff zomezing left to spare. Zo zat you vould haff zomezing before you find employment."

This time, it was much more difficult to keep his emotions in check. The fact that Dieter cared about him so much as to offer him the last of his family gold made Albus's heart squeeze in gratitude and sorrow.

"Dieter, thank you," he said, putting his hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I'll be all right. I couldn't possibly take your inheritance. Your friendship is much more precious than gold."

Albus barely slept that night. It did not feel as though he had consumed any Calming Potion at all. His pulse sped up again before late afternoon, and by the time he returned home, his mind was too absent to care about Aberforth's increasingly loud reproaches. He pressed his face against the table and tried to reason with himself. Apart from a random accident that could befall any witch or wizard, Gellert and Dieter were in no danger. There was absolutely no reason why Gellert should have had a vision of either of them getting hurt. If anyone could be susceptible to sudden danger, it was Albus, Aberforth and Ariana. But they were taking precautions. Surely, _surely_ , nothing was going to happen.

That evening, he sat in Ariana's room, watching her play and teach the elfling new words, but his inattentiveness soon manifested itself. With a look of disgust, Aberforth took charge, distracting Ariana before she could interpret Albus's wild state to her disadvantage.

Around the time of dawn, Albus succeeded in calming himself enough to perform his duties. He ignored his brother's incredulous glances at his sleep-deprived face, and after giving Quaffy orders for the next few hours, went to fetch his jacket. He _needed_ to know if Gellert was feeling better.

To his immense relief, he spotted the blond wizard the moment he stepped out. Gellert had taken seat on the veranda, his expression grim, and behind him, an uncertain but otherwise calm Dieter was leaning against the wall. Albus anxiously approached them.

"How are you feeling, Gellert?"

The German wizard looked up. He seemed to be composing himself.

"Let us have a walk, Albus."

Standing up to straighten his overcoat, he addressed Dieter, "Du kommst auch mit."

Albus thought he would pass out there and then. He had been right: the vision had shown Gellert something terrifying—someone getting hurt, or worse. Unable to bring his voice to function, he turned to follow, hoping the suspense would soon be over, even if he were to receive the news of his own imminent death. Dieter did not appear to be any wiser as to what was going on.

Silently, they walked past the Apparition point and out of the village until they reached the middle of a road that led to a deserted expanse, where Gellert halted. He indicated a patch of low grass, and the two other wizards came closer. When they formed a semi-circle, he began casting protection spells. Whatever discussion lay ahead, they were not to be seen nor heard.

This done, he finally spoke to the English boy.

"Albus, I have not been entirely open with you, but now I must tell you the real reason why I am here."

This was not what Albus had expected, but it had to be related to his vision. It had to be.

"Tell me."

Dieter shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense, biting his lip as if worried about Albus's reaction. He, of course, knew all about it.

"I am on the run, Albus," Gellert confessed. "From people who most certainly want to kill me for what I have done."

Almost instinctively, Albus gave a small nod, the look in his eyes concerned. Those words had not been unexpected, though it still felt shocking to hear them, especially the dark statement _they want to kill me for what I have done_. 

"What happened?"

"You already know what it is that I want to achieve in the long term: the reforms I mean to introduce so that no magical child ever needs to suffer as Ariana has suffered. I… how to put it? I tried to make it happen by cultivating several important friendships back at Durmstrang. It was the right place to start, being one of the best and most international schools in Europe. I needed and wanted to have the right connections. With these connections, however, came some unwanted attention."

His eyes closing, Gellert shook his head, astounded, it seemed, at the irony.

"I was challenged to an unexpected duel, and it ended in a fatality."

At his next words, he opened his eyes again to gaze straight at Albus.

"I am wanted for questioning because a wizard has died by my hand."

All the worries and concerns Albus had experienced in the last days were confirmed by this simple sentence. And almost against his will, he had to concede that his brother's judgment had been sharp in its own way, though the latter had instinctively chosen to picture Gellert as a criminal, not even admitting the possibility that the wizard he was determined to see as his enemy could in fact have been a victim. Albus knew better; he trusted Gellert completely despite the chilling confession.

"How did it happen?" His voice was calm, his expression unchanged.

"An accident," Gellert uttered with what seemed to be shame. "Dieter was the witness, so when I disappeared, I made sure to take him with me."

Albus's eyes flew towards the shorter German boy, but the latter provided no clarification. He was glaring at Gellert as if he could no longer contain his hurt; as if every frustration he had endured in his hands was bursting to be poured out. And pour it out he did.

Startled, Albus watched his friends shout at each other, their argument incomprehensible to him. He had never yet heard the level-headed boy raise his voice, but his self-control had now clearly been pushed to its limit. His face was flushed, and the words in German came in a swift staccato. But whatever it was he was accusing Gellert of, the other wizard was unapologetic, and he snapped right back. Before it could escalate any further, Albus attempted to position himself between them, lending his voice a calm and firm quality.

"Gellert, Dieter, please… What is it about?"

"Dieter is dissatisfied because I brought him here," Gellert explained.

The shorter boy made an impatient noise.

"Gellert zreatened me and forced me to come, and I got expelled just like 'im. And why? Because he vouldn't confess to an accident!"

"It wouldn't have been an accident if I'd had my way," came a dark retort.

"Zee ze problem?" Dieter turned towards Albus. "He von't even apologise!"

"I saved your life; Ignat's brother would have come after you. I've nothing to apologise for."

"And vot eez your solution to zat? Go after Ignat's brozer instead of coming clean while zere eez still a chance. We could still recover our diplomas; it eez not too late!"

"I don't care about that," Gellert declared dismissively. "I'll be ready when Ignat's brother comes after me. Let the whole family come after me, for all I care. I'll be prepared."

"Can you tell me about that accident?" Albus intervened. "What exactly happened there? How did that wizard die?"

"Gellert used the Relashio zpell, except it vas too ztrong. Ignat fell down and… and died," Dieter clarified rather anticlimactically.

Gellert positively cringed at this description, but the other boy merely shrugged, past caring. Albus put a gentle hand on his companion's shoulder, determined to remind him where his priorities lay. He waited until Gellert looked at him before speaking up.

"Suppose you take care of his brother too. You will then have a full-blown war with their entire family clan on your hands. That's not what you want, Gellert. Your goal is to bring improvements to our world. You can't do this if you are wanted for murder. Right now, you are not—I assume Durmstrang has written off the death of this Ignat as an accident. His family alone is looking for you, am I correct? That is still dangerous, but at least you are not wanted by the authorities. Don't compromise yourself. Don't give that family an excuse to go after all your friends in revenge."

"It's too late for that, Albus," Gellert sighed, now looking somewhat calmer.

"There are ways to protect yourself against specific enemies," Albus reasoned with him. "Wards, Glamour Charms, Sneakoscopes, and many Dark spells, I'm sure. With some luck, you can get them arrested if they should attempt to hurt you. They are the attackers, not you. Let it stay that way."

"Wards and Sneakoscopes. Life in concealment," Gellert summarised. "That is not my way, Albus."

"There must be another way then. Other than the death of one of the parties. It would go against everything you want." And then it dawned on Albus. He sought out the blond wizard's eyes, his fingers tensing. "That's the reason you have decided to look into the Hallows, isn't it?"

"It's better to be prepared," Gellert nodded. "And I am sorry to say this, Albus, but both of you are rather naïve if you think it won't end up with someone's blood spilled."

Dieter heaved a sigh. "Zere eez still no excuse for 'ow you 'eld me at wandpoint vhen you dragged me 'ere."

"Very well. Next time, I will use the Imperius Curse," Gellert snapped. "Happy?"

Albus shifted between them again. "This has been going on for long enough. If we are to safely get through everything ahead, we need to be on the same side, all together. Please. You deserve each other's trust. Gellert, if you can offer Dieter an explanation, we can end this misunderstanding. I know what it's like to be alone. And Dieter, I promise that everything Gellert did was for a reason. If he did not care about you, he would have never hurt you in an attempt to save you."

"Eet eez not zat!" Dieter protested. "Eet eez ze fact zat 'e decided to ruin eet for both of us wizout even conzidering vot I vant!"

"There was no time," Gellert cut in. "I had to decide fast. The fact that you came to warn me back then made everything easier. Do you think I haven't investigated Ignat's family? Do you think I don't know who I'm up against? Had I stayed and confessed to what had happened, I would have saved our diplomas, but not, most likely, our lives. If anything, you just can't bring yourself to see the bigger picture."

"Off course! Becauze you do zee ze bigger picture," Dieter retorted. "All I azked for vos at least an apology for vot you 'ad done. Dezpite everyzing, I always conzidered you my friend. And you 'eld me at wandpoint! You just don't do zat!"

Gellert closed his eyes, as if unable to take it any more.

"Fine, my apologies. Better?"

"No." Dieter crossed his arms with a glower. "You 'aff to mean it. And before you do zomezing as crazy any time again, you 'aff to ask for my opinion too. Vot eez zis 'Allows? Vot eez Albus talking about? Vot does zis mean?"

The question had been mostly addressed to Gellert, who answered in German. Albus watched on as Dieter's face became more incredulous with every other word.

"Necromancy," he summed up. "Zat eez your solution?!" He turned towards Albus again. "And you vant to go along vith zis?!"

His expression was so disappointed that Albus had to fight an involuntary cringe. Such a reaction from a person he deeply respected was not easy to handle. But now that he understood what—or rather who—had caused Gellert to flee, he was not going to let any danger come close to them.

"I want to help," he affirmed. "I want to make sure the two of you stay safe, especially if there is a risk of being caught unaware. And if this is the way to protect yourself against lethal magic, then it is worth researching."

Everything was coming together and falling into place. Gellert was, indeed, on the run, pursued by a cruel family, whose son had accidentally died in a duel against him. Unwilling to spend his days in hiding, he was looking for ways to protect himself and avoid death, should a foe sneak up on him at a vulnerable moment. Except those three objects were the very epitome of Dark magic of the most obscure kind.

Dieter, however, was not having it. To him, dabbling in the Darkest of Arts, in addition to what had already happened, was worse than rubbing salt in a raw and bleeding wound.

"Should I remind you zat zere is no protection against deaz? There eez Resurrection—Necromancy—yes, but eet always goes wrong. Always. No matter 'ow you do it. Even eef you pay ze price in blood, it vill be unpredictable. Don't you discuss ze dangers of Necromancy at 'Ogwarts?"

"There is a way," Gellert interrupted. "I've researched it far more extensively than you have, and as incredible as it sounds, there is a more reliable way. What you are thinking of is the classical approach to Necromancy. And yes, there are three major approaches. The first one consists in animating a dead body—creating Inferi and the likes of them. The second method involves Soul Magic, where you force the spirit of a deceased person to inhabit a new body, killing the host in the process. That one is the most obscure of the three, I might add. And the third one is about ripping your soul into pieces while still alive and placing a fragment of it into an object for safekeeping. There is a risk of someone awakening the said soul fragment, though, thus making it come to life; the disadvantage being that an entity this unnatural will think for itself. It is no longer you but a twisted version of you, and it will most likely try to kill the real you as soon as it gets the chance." He paused, collecting this thoughts. "All of these make for very good reasons to ban the practice of Necromancy across the world. But there is _still_ a way. There are objects—powerful and most likely cursed objects—that will allow you to be resurrected just the way you are."

Dieter looked at Albus. "You… you believe it to be true?"

The English wizard contemplated them both. Gellert's fear of being killed was clearly strong; he was convinced that death could come at any moment. He had solid reasons for it too, and in either case, this fear had become so deeply ingrained in his mind that now was not the right instant to dispute it.

"I haven't done enough research yet," he confessed. "But I am willing to help in any way I can. Gellert, do you have any leads as to where these objects might be? As far as I know, they haven't been heard of for centuries. It may take years to find them. And once you do, they can be your defensive weapon for the direst need. But you cannot wait for years. Do you have any plan around it, just in case the research takes longer than you have anticipated?"

But Gellert did not reply, not directly. "They have found me, I think… In my vision, I saw… the Killing Curse."

" _Vision?_ Gellert, was soll das bedeuten?" Dieter spoke with a frown.

"It means I can see the future," the other wizard explained distractedly. "Fragments of it, of what is to come. I just don't know when it will happen… It is the Sight that causes the headache."

He said something else in German, most likely a clarification on his Sight for Dieter's benefit, but then he addressed Albus once again.

"Albus, I must find these objects. If you can't help me, at least do not argue. For I _must_ find them… If I do, maybe this future can be avoided."

His mind seemed to be quite set, and his resolution would not waver. Albus knew he was right: now was not the time for theory and discussions. Reassurance was what Gellert needed. It was as he had feared: the vision had been one of death. Albus approached and put his hands on Gellert's shoulders, his gaze gentle.

"I trust you, Gellert. I will help you in all the ways I possibly can." He drew a breath, never breaking eye contact. "Whose death did you see? You can tell us, even if it's the worst news. We'll get through it. I won't let anything happen to you or Dieter."

But Gellert shook his head. "Albus, trust me, _please_ , trust me on this. You don't want to live with such a burden. I know it's difficult. And I _do_ have plans for the future: I will face the"—the word he used next felt bitter on his tongue— " _justice_ eventually. But right now, let's… let's find the Hallows. Don't ask me about my vision any more. You know everything that you need to know for now; finding out the details of the vision will only drive you insane until you become unable to think of anything else. The obsession will consume you… You never feel it, but suddenly, you will lose the sight of what's truly important."

"Und ich, Gellert?" Dieter's voice intervened.

The taller German wizard sighed. "Es tut mir Leid, aber jetzt ist es einfach zu spät. Falls du wirklich gehen willst… Du bist keine Geisel von mir."

Dieter gave him a long look.

"You know I am not going anyvhere," he stated eventually. "But zere 'as to be a way, other zan Necromancy. Ze future you saw—iff it is true—can yet be changed."

Albus was not so sure of this. As far as he could tell, Gellert's visions always came true.

"Where will you go when summer is over?" he whispered.

"A hiding place. I have been making some arrangements… But let us not worry about it right now. Albus, you know you have a choice, don't you? You both do."

In response, Albus briefly embraced him. There was so much uncertainty, so many questions, so many details that needed untangling. But Gellert was innocent, and nothing was lost for him that could not be recovered. That was what mattered. As for the choice in question, Albus had already made it.

 

 **AN:** All righty, the stakes are now raised. Albus is finally aware of the fact that a dashing foreign boyfriend comes with a baggage. We’re a little nervous to know if you'll like this chapter, but excited as well. Hope you guys find Bathilda amusing, by the way; we certainly do :)


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

Albus spent most of that evening in his back garden, sorting through the sizable turmoil in his mind. Gellert's confession had not made anything simpler; quite the opposite. Perhaps he was no longer feeling weak with panic, but now that all the information had fallen in place, a new array of fears had emerged from the depths of his chest. First and foremost, Gellert had an immense tragedy in his past, one born out of people's malice and jealousy and ignorance. Instead of receiving help from the authorities, he had lost his parents to the system's inequity, only to be left to his own devices, to despair. It was more than understandable that what he desired most in the world was justice—not only for himself but for everyone in need of it. In fact, Albus thought it proof of an extraordinary force of character. In his place, most people would seek selfish and destructive revenge.

But to make his lot even more challenging, Gellert had been forced to confront one of his haters—for every popular and charismatic man had those—and had contributed to an involuntary death: something that had pushed him even further into the arms of the authorities he so mistrusted. Albus could not begrudge his decision to flee; he might have taken the same action at his place. No, he _would_ have taken the same action. After his own father's arrest, after that entire travesty of justice, he had no faith in the authorities either. He did not judge Gellert for taking Dieter along against his will in order to save his life, however objectionable this gesture had been. Nor did he judge him for fighting in the duel against his rich and probably jealous classmate. After all, the Revulsion Jinx was no more lethal than the Stunning Spell. It had been an accident, one of those fateful occurrences designed to test a person.

Albus knew there was a dark side to the young man he had fallen in love with. He spoke of Necromancy in a casual manner, had learned the Dark Arts and shied away from none of the topics the Light families considered forbidden. And yet, had Albus himself gone to Durmstrang, he knew he might have turned out similar in this respect. There was nothing wrong with academic curiosity as long as it was not used for nefarious purposes, and Gellert had made it clear he disapproved of any misuse of that dangerous magic. In other words, Gellert seemed to him to be a progressive Dark wizard, a young man with knowledge and with his heart in the right place. That set him very much apart from the English Dark wizards Albus had encountered at school, all of whom were purebloods and children of politicians. It was only right that Gellert did not wish to sell his agenda in return for their support.

And then there was the matter of the Deathly Hallows. Albus had renounced further questions on the subject of his lover's vision, but he was afraid. The Sight was rare, but when it was true, it was infallible. He could not bear to imagine what it was like to live with that cursed gift. Who could blame Gellert for wanting to possess a safeguard against death when death kept plaguing his future and the authorities were more to be feared than trusted? In truth, he was wise to look for a solution that hurt no one, required no unspeakable sacrifice and posed no risk to his soul.

That being said, the vital question of what they were going to do remained unanswered. It was already July, and once summer was over, Gellert would leave for a hiding place. Would Albus be able to see him from time to time? The idea of a separation felt like a stab wound. There was very little time to learn all they could and form a foolproof plan.

Feeling at least a century old, Albus dragged himself to his dark room, where he lay in bed, watching moonlight and shadows shift across the walls as the night progressed and his thoughts whirled in his mind. No brilliant idea occurred to him, no solution to all the numerous problems they faced.

When morning dawned, he opened the window wide to let the breeze in. His eyes wandered to Madam Bagshot's house, and he saw Gellert appear at his own window, pushing the curtains aside. Their gazes met. Without hesitation, Albus seized a quill and a piece of parchment to scribble a note.

_Could the three of us have a conversation today? I will help you in every way I can._

Like the last time, he gave the note a tap of his wand, and it flitted out of the window like a tiny bird, propelled with magic. Within a minute, it was back, bearing a few words in a neat handwriting beneath his own.

_Let us visit the library in Diagon Alley._

Albus nodded, sent Gellert a reassuring smile, wishing he could lift some of his burden, and went downstairs to attend to the morning chores. When those were done, he settled in the garden to wait for his friends, leafing through one of the books on the Deathly Hallows he had been able to find.

The door to Madam Bagshot's house soon opened, but it was the witch herself, dressed in a morning dress and prepared for a walk. He made the gesture of touching his hat, and for once, she nodded without starting a soliloquy. But then they heard a clucking sound and looked up in time to see a pair of chickens escaping their shed.

"Oh, dear," Bathilda commented with her characteristic short laugh. "Don't you ward your place, Albus, dear? You know the joke: what do you call a frightening hen?"

He smiled. "That would be a Poultrygeist. Sorry, Madam Bagshot."

She chuckled, seeming to be in a cheerful mood. Aberforth passed them, his hands covered in earth. He was busy collecting weeds to allow the flowers to grow more easily. Kendra Dumbledore had loved flowers.

"Good morning, Aberforth," Bathilda called.

"Morning," the boy returned through clenched teeth.

"And how is darling Ariana doing?"

Her voice was promptly recovering its gossiper quality, and Albus fought the urge to cover his face with the book. Could there be no conflict for at least one day?

Aberforth glared at her. "As long as that… nephew of yours doesn't come around any more, she'll be happy enough."

Albus thought he was going to sink through the ground from the sheer shame.

"It's a joke, Madam Bagshot," he said pleasantly, springing to his feet. "Aberforth is joking. Ariana is fond of Gellert; he has been very kind to her."

"Ah," she uttered, waving her hand. He had no way of telling whether she believed him. "He is a good boy, my Gellert. Even if he does have a, well, _German_ side."

The moment she was gone, Aberforth approached.

"You're pathetic," he snapped at Albus.

"And you're rude," the latter retorted, sitting down to resume his reading.

The next thing he knew, there were weeds and earth all over him: in his hair, on his clothes, on his open book. Aberforth was stomping away, an empty bucket in his hands. Nearly at the same instant, Gellert and Dieter happened to leave the house, and Albus waved at them in an awkward greeting, shaking off the mess as best as he could. The two wizards took in the scene.

"Ve vould offer 'elp, but zat vill make 'im more angry," Dieter said.

Gellert did so nonetheless: his wordless incantation made a gush of air appear from the end of his wand, which helped Albus rid himself of the soil.

"Shall we?" he proposed.

"Thank you." Albus snatched his book to shake it clean too. "Yes, let's go."

They heard the door slam shut behind them but did not comment on it, keeping their conversation light as they walked towards the Apparition point, from where they were transported to the centre of Diagon Alley.

The library was a tall building, magically enlarged on the inside to accommodate both the rooms full of bookshelves and a large reading hall. They headed into the latter to select a table, casting the Soundproof Charm around their seats, and without any further ado, Albus decided to breach the topic.

"As I have said, there is nothing I wish more than to help you." His eyes found Gellert's. "My choice was made long ago. Do you believe me?"

"I do," the blond wizard replied earnestly. "But Dieter and I had a conversation yesterday..." He glanced at his fellow countryman and went on, "Neither of you are implicated in anything yet. Except Dieter, perhaps, which is why I took him along."

"Everybody knows ve knew each ozer," Dieter clarified. "And my parents are dead. Zey vill go after everyone who knew Gellert. Ozers haff family who can protect zem, but I do not."

"But you are not implicated, Albus," Gellert resumed. "If you decide to walk away now, no one will be the wiser. Even if someone should later show up at Auntie's and ask about me, they will never think of questioning you. And you are smart enough to tell them you saw me fleetingly, if at all."

Albus's expression softened in a smile. "I know, Gellert. I understand. And it's in complete awareness and taking full responsibility for my choice that I'm telling you I don't want to walk away, ever."

He wanted to add _I love you_ but was afraid it would make Dieter uncomfortable. Gellert, however, seemed to guess what he would have said, had they been alone.

"We have time," he whispered, his eyes tender with emotion.

"But you haff to lizten to our advice," Dieter intervened, effectively puncturing their affectionate moment. "Zat eez my condition."

Gellert heaved a sigh. "Dieter has… reservations regarding certain calibres of magic."

"Everybody should haff zuch rezervations. Vot do you zink, Albus?"

The Englishman looked down at the polished surface of the table. He was not going to discourage Gellert from doing the one thing that brought him comfort in the middle of fear and uncertainty. What he ought to ensure instead was that Gellert become aware of the consequences of his actions and their safety. This could be the key to addressing the source of his fears.

"I need to know more about this," he said at last, studying both wizards. "You told me yesterday the Deathly Hallows might be the answer to escaping death, Gellert. That is, you can come back to life even if you are killed. What evidence have you been able to gather? Do you know for sure it will work?"

"I am certain of it," Gellert asserted. "I saw it first in various texts on Necromancy. You know most of them are written in ancient runes—well, I'm not sure if you do, but it's true. There is a specific set of characters used in this particular brand of Dark magic. We only scratched the surface in class; even experts have no understanding of some of the more obscure signs. That is why this art is so dangerous to those who dabble in it blindly. When I read those texts, I spotted a sign that had never come up before. I couldn't understand at first what it meant and had to skim through entire volumes to find it again, but when I did, the context was the same. It spoke of resurrection—not one of the best-known kinds, but something unheard of: a sort of… auto-resurrection."

Albus leaned back in his chair. While he could not quite believe something of the sort was realistic, his curiosity was prickled, if only to establish for certain whether this type of magic even existed. He could see why it made Dieter so uneasy.

"Does this rare symbol stand for the Deathly Hallows?" he asked.

Eyes alight with scholarly excitement that was anything but strange to Albus, Gellert reached for a piece of parchment and a quill. "It's more complex than that. You see, no matter the differences between the rituals of Necromancy, they rest on the same foundation and require three main components. You need to offer a sacrifice to maintain the balance and you need to wield the object that channels the Dark magic. You will also need to have something that belonged to the one who is being resurrected. The more emotionally charged the object, the better." He dipped the quill in ink and drew a triangle. "The Cloak. The belongings of the revenant." Inside it, he drew a straight line. "The wand—or, in some rituals, the dagger. That is the object that fuels and channels the magic." Finally, he drew a circle inside the triangle. "And the Stone. The vessel—in other words, the sacrificial witch or wizard."

Albus stared at the symbol, his face composed, though his mind was whirling. This was… Darker than he had imagined. It was not that he had not expected or even known Necromancy to have a sacrificial element to it. It was that hearing it, knowing it... made a difference.

"So what you are saying is," he started, forcing his mind to focus on the hard, solid facts, "these objects—the Deathly Hallows—they are… a ritual onto themselves. If you have them, you need no living victim to sacrifice. The magic they contain is already imbued with the power you would otherwise channel with the weapon, the vessel and the belongings."

"Exactly," Gellert breathed, regarding Albus carefully. "The sacrificial victim is still required, and that role is relegated to the master of the Deathly Hallows. The magic used to animate them… think about it. It has endured for centuries, claiming many lives—at least on the side of the Elder Wand. Besides, the three objects have never been reunited in one person's hands ever since the Peverell brothers died. The magic they hold between them is of the Darkest kind, more evil perhaps than any other brand of magic in the world. And so the one who possesses the Hallows will have to become their Victim too, submitting to death willingly when it comes in order to be resurrected. Otherwise, it will not work."

"Necromancy alvays requires a victim," Dieter cut in, his face grim. "Alvays. Even in zis case. Imagine iff your body vas destroyed seconds after you accepted the Killing Curse—then vot? Zere eez always a catch."

Albus said nothing for a moment. He could see the logic in the idea, but there was also danger, and they were equally balanced.

"I think it's ironic," he whispered. "If you think of the Tale of the Three Brothers… it's about the impossibility of cheating Death. And yet, this is exactly what the master of the Hallows would be doing under the circumstances you describe. Submit to death, only to come back on his own terms, unaffected." He looked up, serious. "Gellert, you are absolutely sure this will not claim any other toll on the carrier of the Hallows? I understand why you would want to put your trust in these objects, and I am willing to help. But I will only let you near them once we are completely certain they will not bring about a fate worse than death."

"Yes!" Dieter exclaimed triumphantly. "I haff been telling 'im. In abzolutely every ritual, ze intended for ze resurrection comez back different, alvays. Nobody 'as yet succeeded in bringing someone completely ze same. Ze only good zing about all zis eez zat you offer yourself az ze Sacrifice, zo you don't haff to kidnap anybody else. But zat eez essentially ze only difference."

Gellert sighed again. "Dieter, you really know how to spoil the mood."

Forgetting momentarily they were not alone in the reading hall, Albus put his hand on top of Gellert's.

"We will research it well, I promise. Believe me, I can see why these objects appeal to you as the safest option. I only want you to be safe. Tell me one thing: since the magic that impregnates the Hallows is of the Darkest kind... does it affect the carrier only when he comes to own all three of them? Suppose for a moment you only acquire one object, maybe the Elder Wand. Can you use it simply as a powerful wand without being affected by the sacrificial magic it contains?"

"I suppose so," the other wizard mused, squeezing his hand. "While these objects are undoubtedly cursed, they can only be used for the Ritual when they are gathered together. Separately, they might amount to nothing more than someone's prized magical trophies."

"Albus," Dieter exclaimed in disbelief, "haff you not 'eard vot I just told you? Zere eez no guarantee it vill vork, none! Not to mention, vot if your body eez destroyed? Vot if you haff nowhere to return to?"

"Well, then, I will simply be a dashing, irresistible spirit who will visit you at night," Gellert retorted, somewhat irritated at his obstinacy.

"Zis eez not funny," Dieter declared.

"Well, you have to admit it is a _little_ funny. You don't need to worry, though; I wouldn't be one of those vengeful spirits. Unless you annoy me too much..."

"And zat eez my next point," Dieter went on angrily. "Necromancy eez tightly tied into Soul magic—ze most dangerous and obscure of all. Vitches and vizards who dabbled in Necromancy haff gone mad. If you make even ze slightest mistake, it can kill you. Or vorse, it can claim your soul."

He looked desperately at Albus, as if imploring him to see reason. The latter swallowed before turning towards Gellert, stroking his hand with his thumb.

"I say, let's research it as well as we can. There is no harm in that. I don't want you to die, Gellert, and nor does Dieter. We just want you to stay safe in body and soul. And if your suspicions are correct, then the Hallows may be worth it. But don't forget: they are a precaution and a defence, not an end unto themselves. Your purpose is much bigger."

He leaned forward, now looking down at the rune symbol Gellert had drawn earlier. "You know, I heard something once. Back at the village where I lived as a child, mother knew a woman who told her a strange story. Her great-grandfather had run foul of a group of Dark wizards, who had come for him one night. A duel ensued, and outnumbered as he was, he found himself disarmed and at wandpoint. Something unexpected happened, though. His eldest son threw himself in front of him and took the Curse in his stead. I don't know if there was more to it—if, perhaps, a certain kind of magic had been involved or precautions taken. But after this sacrifice... the Dark wizards were unable to harm the man. Their Curses rebounded."

He looked up, serious. "What I am trying to say is... if the research takes longer than anticipated and if it comes to the worst, I am not letting anyone hurt you."

"No," Gellert answered in a voice that suffered no argument. "It will not come to that."

With this, his expression changed. More clearly than ever, Albus realised that Gellert was a _Dark_ wizard. It was suddenly all too easy to imagine the way he had managed to bring Dieter from Durmstrang to England against the boy's will. When his façade of charisma and playful cockiness dissolved, an imperious Gellert emerged: one who was used to being obeyed.

As if on cue, the blond wizard threw Dieter a venomous glance, causing him to recoil slightly. The shorter boy briefly closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, his face was blank.

"All right, ve vill research ze objects," he conceded on a rather dejected tone.

It was good enough for Gellert. "Oh, Dieter, relax a little, will you? It's not like we intend to sacrifice _you_. For one, there would be no fun in that: you'd be squealing and crying all the way through the Ritual, which would be very distracting."

Dieter said nothing. He only stared at them sullenly, his arms crossed.

With a pang of guilt, Albus looked between them, uncertain how to reconcile them this time. He understood their individual reasonings and disagreed with neither.

In the end, he asked, "You proposed coming to this library. Is there something precise that you would like to look into?"

Gellert nodded. "The other day, I took a stroll in the local cemetery, and there was a family name that sparked my interest. I was wondering if we could look more deeply into wizarding genealogy. If someone is currently in possession of one of the Hallows, I'm sure it has been handed to them down the family line."

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, and truth be told, Albus found himself impatiently awaiting the night when he and Gellert would be alone. Not that he did not wish for Dieter's company—despite the sour mood the latter had been exhibiting lately, Albus had grown to care about Dieter and now fully considered him a friend—yet given his feelings for Gellert, not everything could be said in front of the other boy.

Finally, darkness had descended upon the village.

It had been a while since Ariana had retreated to her room, though not before putting Quaffy to his own miniature bed. Aberforth, however, seemed to keep stomping up and down, as if every time he finished a chore, he found a new one to perform. Albus watched the tiny flame of his candle dance, his limbs tense. He wondered if Gellert had already been able to Disapparate to their special place in the moors. Admittedly, Madam Bagshot was inconsistent in her daily patterns: sometimes she hosted dinners till very late in the evening, yet at other times, she was as much of an early riser as anyone else in the village. Whenever he glanced at the window, the glass showed him his own pensive reflection; he was certain, though, the village would be as good as asleep in a matter of moments.

At last, the door to his brother's room snapped shut, and Albus heard him shuffle before going still. He could not wait another minute. Blowing out his candle, he cast the Imperturbable Charm around himself and walked out, his steps now muffled with magic. Down the stairs and through the sitting room he walked, his wand rising to unbolt the front door.

There was something liberating about the fresh, sweet breeze that wafted round his face and combed his hair. It felt complicit, as though he were a night animal who was coming to life after a day of slumber. How people changed! He could not remember ever stepping out of line at Hogwarts. If anything, it had been his task as a prefect and later the Head Boy to discipline the bolder students. Occasionally, he had had cause to reason even with his friend Doge when the latter conceived rebellious ideas. And yet, he was now sneaking out under the cover of the night to meet the man he loved, and it came after a day of research on Necromancy, no less. The irony brought a faint smile to his lips. As he turned on the spot at the Apparition point, his eyes took in the silent village, and he felt half-disconnected from it; or perhaps it had never truly been his home.

The spot he and Gellert had agreed to meet at was different at night. Despite the starry expanse above him, darkness seemed complete to his eyes, and wind was rustling in the high grass of the moors before losing itself in the trees a little distance away. The sounds of crickets and nocturnal birds filled the air with strange yet enthralling music.

" _Lumos_ ," Albus whispered, looking around him as a bead of light appeared at the tip of his wand.

All he could see was the wide clearing. Maybe Gellert had not yet come.

"You have stepped in the shrubbery again."

He spun around and saw his lover behind him, propped against a tree. There was a smile on his handsome face.

"You are very easy to trace, you know."

A small laugh escaped Albus. He hurried forth and captured Gellert in a breathless embrace.

"That's the intention. Did you have to wait for long?"

"I made good use of the time," the other wizard assured him, taking him by the hand.

Together, they walked into the clearing. It looked completely deserted: windy and a little eerie. But as Gellert pulled him further, the air around them changed. They walked through a bubble of magic that was transparent and invisible to the eye. Inside, there was a warm blanket on the ground. A few candles provided soft light, and a basket full of refreshments stood to one side.

"A little modest," Gellert commented, "but better than nothing."

"It's perfect," Albus said sincerely. "A place of our own: wild, beautiful, protected."

They sat down on the blanket, which was so soft that Albus was certain Gellert had resorted to the Cushioning Charm to render it even more comfortable. Their hands were still joined, and now that some of the gloom had dissipated in candle light, Albus had the impression something was weighing on Gellert's mind. It was not that the other wizard was in a sombre mood; it seemed subtler, more elusive. In all fairness, it was understandable too. A vision of death could not fail to bring worry and uncertainty in its wake, and Albus desperately wished he could help Gellert. If only he had the slightest idea whom the death concerned, he would be able to find a solution for protecting that person.

"Are you all right?" he inquired gently. "Is Dieter... still unhappy with us?"

"Quite unhappy." Gellert sighed. "What about you, though? I've been meaning to ask… You don't seem affected by the fact that I've killed a wizard."

"It was an accident. The Revulsion Jinx is effective when repelling an opponent, but you can't possibly control the way he will fall down. It's not your fault his fall proved fatal, especially if it happened outside."

"And had it not been an accident? What would you have thought then?"

"You are not a killer, Gellert," Albus insisted. "A Dark wizard, yes—and there is nothing wrong with being one. A killer, no. If you were, you would not be seeking to improve everyone's lives."

Gellert gazed at him, as if trying to fathom out whether Albus spoke the truth.

"And what about Necromancy, Albus? Doesn't it shock you that I am comfortable with such magic? It is a line many wizards would never cross. Those who do are usually the worst of our kind. Even at Durmstrang, the subject is mostly avoided. That is to say, we study about it, but you will hardly find a person willing to go through with anything of the sort."

Albus was silent for a moment. He looked into the distance, where the wind was bending heather in all directions. "Would you believe me if I told you it doesn't shock me? That in fact, I understand?"

"I am trying to figure out why," Gellert admitted. "Most sensible wizards would take it as a valid reason for running in the opposite direction, and as fast as possible at that..."  
He laughed good-naturedly, though his expression grew serious again.

Smiling in response, Albus explained, "I've always thought of myself as a Light wizard. My family members see themselves as such, even if... there were times when we didn't do that name justice. But had I gone to Durmstrang and learned about that branch of magic, it might have been different. The boundaries between the two are sometimes very blurred. And if you can handle it... knowledge and curiosity are not a sin." He paused. "I feel Dark magic is not unlike power. It is a great force to wield, and it requires strength of character. In the hands of a weakling, it will bring disastrous consequences. But if handled by a strong individual who can appreciate its potential without falling victim to its captivating quality—someone who can master it, in other words—it can be used for a good purpose." He met Gellert's gaze. "And that is why I'm not frightened. You are strong, Gellert."

This statement was met with a brief silence while the German wizard pondered his words.

"It is true that the Dark Arts are very… alluring. Everyone who has attended Durmstrang knows it. This side of magic needs to be handled with delicacy, care and utmost respect, or the Darkness will consume you." He smiled. "I _am_ aware of it, never fear." And then his smile became positively seductive. "In fact, I could teach you some highly enticing Dark spells. Would you be interested?"

He gave Albus a slight push, and the latter landed on the blanket, his eyes directed towards the sky. It was a beautiful night. Warm and safe in their magical bubble, they could not even hear the howling wind. There were now more stars in the sky than there had been in June, which spoke for the weather change.

Gellert's handsome face loomed right above him, his eyes full of playful mischief, and the very sight rivalled the beauty of the stars. Winding his arms around the blond wizard, Albus admired his features in the dim light. He loved everything about Gellert more than words could express: the sound of his voice, the way he moved, every glance of his blue eyes, every golden hair on his head, every thought in his mind. There was, to him, no greater treasure in the world.

"What would you teach me?" he breathed, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh, trust me, a lot," came a vague promise just as he was pulled into a tenderly sensual kiss. "But first, let us enjoy other things..."


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

By the third week of July, the research was in full swing. Both Albus and Gellert, assisted by a rather reluctant Dieter, were absorbed in their investigation of the Deathly Hallows, studying wizarding genealogy from all the books they could borrow to uncover the last known owners of the Peverells' creations. The information, where it was available, was scarce and required a large amount of guesswork, which only reinforced Dieter's insistence on the dangerous nature of their enterprise. The Elder Wand proved to be the most elusive of the Hallows, having changed hands more often than any other magical relic and left a trail of disputable ownerships that frequently led them to dead-end conclusions. Their fortune took a turn, however, with a rather brilliant deduction of Gellert's that allowed them to spot a connection between several medieval family trees. From that point, they needed a single step to form an idea where the first Hallow was. The Resurrection Stone—the most obscure and, possibly, the most dangerous of them—could be within their reach.

Before they could proceed with their search plan, an unexpected and rather uncomfortable distraction arrived in the form of a dinner at Madam Bagshot's. Albus's graduation diploma had arrived, along with a letter of congratulations from Headmaster Dippet, which stated that with his straight O's in every subject including the additional ones, Albus had in fact established himself as the most brilliant graduate in the recent history of Hogwarts. Pleased though he was, Albus was quick to hide the diploma in a drawer of his desk, giving his siblings only a cursory and modest account of his results. As for his German friends, he was planning on saying nothing at all. Due to the tragic circumstances of their escape, they had lost any claim to their graduation papers with their expulsion. The last thing he was going to do was rub his success in the face of their harsh situation. But Madam Bagshot, whose multiple connections he had quite forgotten about, had heard the news from an acquaintance, and she compensated for his attempt at secrecy most liberally.

The dinner she organised in his honour was an excruciating affair. Flushed with embarrassment, he nodded and thanked her for the praise while she went on about his exemplary behaviour, which, she said, increased his chances at courting Miss Flourish. She went so far as to ascribe Gellert's recent studiousness to Albus's influence, which caused even Dieter, who had been listening wistfully, to look up in disapproval.

"Gellert vas among ze best ztudents at Durmstrang."

After days of sullen disagreement, this defense was so touching that both wizards looked at him, lost for words. Bathilda whipped about, her smile wavering.

"What do you mean by _was_ , my boy?"

"Well, I've graduated, Auntie," Gellert lied smoothly. "Using past tense makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Very smart," she commented sardonically. "Before we expand on the grammar, why does it take Durmstrang so long to provide diplomas? I was under the impression that school was exclusive."

"Who knows, Auntie; maybe they are decorating it just for you," Gellert smiled cheekily.

She quirked an eyebrow. Her querulous façade often made people underestimate her wits, but that was a mistake. She was, indeed, much sharper than one gave her credit for.

"Never stoop to the level of a three-year-old, Gellert, or I'll treat you like one and introduce you to the Scouring Charm. Merlin, you do need to learn some manners. Albus, my boy, it's a good thing you have transmitted your love for the books to dear Gellert. There is still room for improvement, though, and rather a lot of it."

"I merely meant to point out that paperwork takes time, Auntie," Gellert objected.

"Paperwork, eh? Good manners are everything, Gellert, and don't you forget it. Dear Albus here may be as good as family, but that is only an additional reason to be civil."

Blushing, Albus listened to the exchange, anxious that it might spiral out of its usual boundaries. In the end, however, the conversation smoothed itself, and once pudding was over, Gellert gave him a sign he wished to have a word aside.

He had found them, the family who had the Resurrection Stone in their possession, he told Albus. He knew where they lived. And from what he had read about them, he knew exactly how to approach them too. And so it was settled.

It was strange to think that discussing Necromancy did not affect Albus nearly as much as it should while this adventure seemed insane. Yet three days later, here they were, at the edge of Little Hangleton, dressed in the fanciest robes they owned and staring at their destination: the home of the noble House of Gaunt. A shack.

Incredulous, Albus glanced at the parchment in Gellert's hand—the result of the latter's research. 

"Are you quite sure this is it?" he asked. "They definitely don't live in the manor over there?"

He indicated the handsome mansion perched on the nearby hill.

"If only," Gellert smiled grimly. "Do try to not gag at the smell. If you absolutely must resort to the Air-freshening Charm, let us agree on a signal so that it can be done discreetly."

"Vho lives in ze manor zen?" Dieter asked.

Though unwilling at first, he found it impossible not to feel excitement about the whole affair, not to mention they had concurred it was better for them to stay together.

"The Muggles who own this land," Gellert replied. "Trust me, the irony is not lost on me."

Wondering if the master of the shack had even received their owl—or if he was accustomed to receiving owls, for that matter—Albus nodded apprehensively, though he, too, could not suppress the excitement. He had never broken any rules at Hogwarts; sometimes, he would even secretly judge those who had, and yet… doing something forbidden had an unparalleled allure to it, and all the more so when Gellert was the one to lead them.

Could this possibly work? What place for the Stone was this anyway? But one never knew; Dark objects could be scattered at the most unexpected spots.

Cautiously, they trod down a grassy path; the Gaunts had done nothing to clear the access to their house. As they came nearer, the shabbiness of the place became even more pronounced, and so did something else.

"The smell might be the least of our worries," Albus said in disgust.

There was a dead snake hanging from a nail on the door.

"Charming," Gellert commented drily.

"I don't know about zis," Dieter tried for the last time. "Vot makes ze two of you zo sure he vill even believe us? Vot if he zomehow' underztands zat our ancient family tree eez a forgery?"

"Relax, Dieter," Gellert cut in. "Have fun with it—just be glad you are not the girl we're offering."

Dieter grimaced, but there was nothing to do. Suppressing a shudder, he advanced after them.

"You will introduce us, Albus, won't you?” Gellert smiled.

Albus nodded, steeling himself for the task ahead.

"Just to be clear," he said in an attempt at a last-minute joke, "this is not what all English purebloods are like. Though they do make one feel ashamed of one's own country."

Taking a breath, he stepped closer to knock, but the door flew open before he could touch it. They found themselves looking at a boy of nine or perhaps ten. He was small for his age, his clothes filthy and his hair matted and strewn with earth and leaves. His eyes of a vivid brown stared in opposite directions, and yet, Albus instantly felt pierced and measured up by his gaze. Then the boy's mouth opened in a grin that could be one of curiosity or amusement, revealing several gaps in his teeth.

"Hello," Albus said politely, though it was important to maintain an air of haughtiness and keep his face from reflecting any emotion, "we are looking for Mr Marmaduke Gaunt. Could you possibly be his son?"

The child did not so much as blink. His silence did not matter, though, for a man appeared behind him, and he made for an even more formidable sight. He was short yet powerfully built with a large torso and thick arms. His eyes were the same colour as the boy's but much smaller.

"Who are you?" he barked at them.

They could see him clutching his wand. With his free hand, he seized the boy by his shoulder and pushed him aside.

"My name is Albus Abbott." It was not too difficult to imitate the mixture of cold courtesy and arrogance the Hogwarts purebloods were used to displaying. "These are my friends and associates: Gellert and Dieter Surgbaben of Hanover. We have been hoping to see Mr Marmaduke Gaunt, as per the letter we sent yesterday."

The man considered him, his tiny eyes narrowed in suspicion. The wand he was holding was still angled in a combative position.

"What do you want?"

Strangely, Albus did not feel intimidated in the slightest. He wondered if his brother's hostility could possibly have prepared him for this.

"As I stated in my letter, we are aware that you are among the noblest purebloods in the country. It so happens that my friends, who are from an ancient German House, have been hoping to establish contacts with influential pureblood families such as yours. If you would allow us inside, we would have a better chance to make acquaintance."

"Come in then," the man grumbled, and Albus followed him through the door, glancing at his companions.

For Gellert, playing the nobleman came naturally while Dieter was wisely looking down.

The shack looked even more miserable inside. One could suspect Mr Gaunt's wife had passed away a while ago, for there was not a trace of female touch around this living space that combined a kitchen and what passed for a sitting room. A layer of dust covered every rickety piece of furniture, the floor was soft with soil, and even the pots and pans on the stove seemed unwashed. Gaunt pointed at three fragile chairs.

"Tea?" he asked grudgingly.

"Thank you, that would be welcome," Albus replied, knowing they could not refuse the offer without breaking the protocol.

Looking bad-tempered, the man shuffled towards the stove. The boy, meanwhile, chose a spot on the floor near Dieter, who found himself targeted by the child's disconcerting pair of eyes. It must have taken all the resolve in the blond wizard's body to stop himself from grabbing Gellert's arm, and in all fairness, Albus could not blame him for this impulse.

A moment later, three dirty cups full of brown liquid were thrust into the guests' hands, and Gaunt settled down in an armchair to face the German boys.

"So what do you want?" he snapped.

"My name is Gellert Surgbaben, as Mr Abbott just explained. Due to tragic circumstances, I am now the oldest member of my family, and I find myself responsible for my bloodline's future. For this reason, my brother Dieter and I have sought you out, Mr Gaunt. Your nobility and ancient ties to Salazar Slytherin are known far beyond the Commonwealth."

Albus could not immediately tell whether Mr Gaunt was following, but he had misjudged the man's astuteness.

"You are German," he barked. "Why don't you pay visits to other Germans?"

"We most certainly do, Mr Gaunt," Gellert answered, unfazed. "Our sister Wiebke is merely a child of eight. In time, she will blossom into a great beauty, and with a name as famous as that of Surgbaben, as well as a sizable amount of wealth in dowry, we are keeping our options open. As a father yourself, I'm sure you understand."

He made sure to observe the older man as he spoke. In a way, it was admirable that this wizard could hold himself with such confidence.

"How much are we talking about?" Gaunt asked with a rather shrewd expression.

While Gellert expanded on his fictional family's assets, the child, who, until now, had been staring at the three of them in turn, started to hiss and click his tongue. Albus recognised Parseltongue but was nonplussed until he spotted a young snake slithering along the wall, its tiny head just visible between the leaves. Quick like a monkey, the little boy seized the snake and brought it to his lap, inches from Dieter's feet.

Albus could see the blond wizard's eyes widen and decided to intervene.

"We have heard you are the only family in Britain to still retain the gift of Parseltongue. Is that right, Mr Gaunt?"

The man straightened up in his armchair, his eyes flashing.

"We are Salazar Slytherin's last living descendants in the world," he thundered. "His power runs in our veins. Who else would possess this?" From under his rather ragged shirt, he pulled out a heavy locket. "It belonged to Slytherin himself. And it will belong to the Gaunts until the end of times."

Albus took a closer look. The locket was of a rectangular shape and had an S engraved on its surface in small green stones. There was no trace of a larger stone unless the Hallow was hidden inside. He glanced at Gellert to see if the latter had found what they were looking for.

He received a small, barely perceptible nod.

"If I may, Mr Gaunt," the German wizard uttered, "is this unique ability your dominant talent? I mean no disrespect. During our search for a suitable match for our lovely sister, we have come across families who… used to have certain gifts and lost them due to… ah, erroneous blood politics, shall we say."

Mr Gaunt drew himself up in a positively menacing manner, causing Albus to cringe despite his best efforts.

"And what do you mean by that, _boy_?" he spat. "The only blood politics are those that preserve the purity of blood. If someone has told you different and you believed them, we have nothing more to talk about." He glared for a few seconds before saying demandingly, "Have you brought a picture?"

"Most certainly," Gellert replied. "My apologies. Greatness inspires jealousy. I would never have thought any less of you. Please forgive my transgression, but I had to make sure."

Ignoring the man's aggressive stance, he bowed to him slightly and then switched to German to address his supposed little brother. For a second, it left Albus confused, but he understood almost at once. It had been going a little too well, and Gellert needed to remind Mr Gaunt of his own bigotry.

This distraction could not have been more welcome, for Dieter had been watching in horror as the little boy decapitated the snake he had been playing with and was now tearing its body apart. He composed himself, though, and handed over the portrait of a lovely blonde girl.

She looked vaguely familiar. In fact, Albus realised, her hair was the exact same shade as Gellert's. He smiled in recognition. It was the picture of Gellert's mother.

Mr Gaunt snatched the portrait with one hairy hand and brought it close to his eyes, as though he were very myopic. The way he scrutinised the little girl was revolting, but at his motion, Albus noticed something else. Apart from Slytherin's locket, Mr Gaunt was wearing another family heirloom: a golden ring with a black stone. An old, ugly ring it was too. And yet... it was just old enough.

Leaning back in his seat, Albus met Gellert's gaze, his expression questioning. The other wizard's blue eyes spoke volumes even though his face remained completely neutral.

_They had found it._ The first of the three Hallows.

Albus could not believe it. He glanced at Dieter to see if the other boy had noticed too, but the latter was now resolutely turned away from the little boy, who was busy eviscerating the snake, hissing all the while.

"German," Mr Gaunt commented at last in a slightly disapproving voice as he returned the portrait. "I can see that."

"Mr Gaunt," Albus started, struggling to keep his tone devoid of offense, "I have to compliment you on your ring. Is it also a family piece that belonged to Salazar Slytherin?"

The same look of fierce pride stole into the older man's expression.

"It was not Slytherin's," he said, displaying his hand, "but it was passed onto us by generations and generations of Gaunts."

And indeed, now that they could see the stone more clearly, a tell-tale detail could be discerned on its dark surface: the rune symbol Gellert had drawn in the library.

"Does _your_ family have any talents?" Gaunt barked at Gellert.

"We have had a few remarkable talents in the past—"

"I don't care about the past!" Gaunt snapped. "We are the last living descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, the purest of blood, and with dominant talents untainted by filth! Do you really think I would offer Marvolo to _Germans_ without even any special talent?"

He spat on the floor in front of Gellert's feet.

"I received you out of courtesy, but you are nothing but frauds—mated with Mudbloods, no doubt."

Gellert held the other man's gaze, his back straight.

"Our family is of pure blood, but you have made your sentiments clear." His voice was cold with anger. "I thank you for receiving us. It is time for us to go."

Just to irritate Gaunt some more, he swiftly switched to German again to address Dieter.

"Lass uns gehen, es war eine Zeitverschwendung."

Relieved at being finally allowed to go, Dieter threw one last look of disgust around him and followed Gellert out, taking the portrait with him.

Albus got to his feet as well. Before exiting, he turned to say, "I was going to recommend that your family be granted a seat in Wizengamot, but I believe we will pass."

He then snapped the door shut and hurried after his friends, pleased to be out of this house of horrors. They waited to be well out of sight before they dared speak.

"Are you all right, Dieter?" Albus inquired, taking in the boy's greyish colour.

"Zat vos… zat vos…"

The shorter wizard simply lacked words, but Gellert had them in abundance.

"Let us hope young Marvolo will, indeed, never procreate. The consequences could be disastrous."

"I don't even want to imagine," Albus murmured, though his eyes were shining with excitement. He put a hand on Gellert's shoulder. "But we found it. Can you believe it? It was there all along!"

The other young man's smile was dashing, to say the least.

"We found it. Now the only problem is to steal it… While Gaunt lives in a hovel, he is still capable of magic, and his sweet boy will call every snake within five miles to help. I am not saying we won't overpower him, but it needs to be planned carefully so that the authorities wouldn't come to investigate."

"I am not doing zat!" Dieter declared.

Without another word, he handed the portrait back to Gellert, who took out his wand. After a few spells, the picture turned back to its pocket size, and the girl's face changed, becoming even more familiar. Coming closer to study her delicate features, again Albus had to smile at the resemblance.

"Your mother," he whispered. "She was beautiful."

He looked at Gellert, his excitement and admiration such that he wished he could kiss the other wizard. He would not have hesitated, were it not for his fear of making Dieter even more uncomfortable.

"My mother," Gellert echoed softly before pocketing the portrait.

He must have realised that displaying more emotions in front of Dieter would have been inappropriate. He therefore addressed the latter, attempting to shake off the soul-wrenching look of melancholy that had crept into his eyes.

"Don't worry, Dieter, spending time with Marvolo was an ordeal enough. When it comes to stealing, leave it to me."

He turned towards Albus, as if to invite him on a joke.

"Though it did seem to me that little Marvolo had actually taken a liking to him, don't you think?"

Dieter grimaced. "Zat child vos… zadistic. Don't pretend eet didn't mess wiz your 'ead."

Watching the Gaunt boy torture the young snake to death in front of them was the most disturbing sight he had ever witnessed.

"It was horrible," Albus agreed, his smile fading. "I can't imagine _any_ woman ever entering that house."

Even Gellert had to cringe at the idea. He had meant it when expressing his hope that the family would never reproduce again. Thankfully, Dieter changed the topic.

"Vot vos ze name you invented for us?"

The other German wizard smiled. "You grew up observing Muggles. I'm surprised you haven't caught on just yet. It's a word play on a certain famous Muggle family name."

Albus watched Dieter reflect for a few seconds. All of a sudden, recognition lit his eyes, and he let out a genuine laugh.

"Off course! Zat is... zat eez brilliant!"

He caught Albus's curious look and explained, "Eet eez a vord play on ze name Habsburg, which is a Muggle royal house."

And as the implications sank it, Albus joined in their laughter. Gellert had skillfully fooled the bigoted elitist by pretending to wear a Muggle name.

"Cheeky," he sniggered with an affectionate glance at Gellert.

"What can I say—some wizards just beg to be made fun of," Gellert shrugged.

"But ve are not going back zere, I mean it, nozing eez vorth going back zere," Dieter cut in more soberly, as if to assert the point. "Please, let's just go."

"Of course." It was clear Gellert did not wish to ruin the moment. "You won't be going back there, Dieter; that much I can promise. I wasn't serious about offering you as a bride, you know."

"Funny," Dieter sighed, rolling his eyes.

With a small chuckle at their exchange, Albus mused on the conversation that had just taken place in the shack, especially Gaunt's affirmation that the ring had been in their family for centuries.

"One thing is worth researching before we plan on stealing it," he said pensively. "I understand that the Gaunt family has become what it is now due to centuries of inbreeding, unwise blood politics, arrogance and gold squandering. However, is it possible that keeping such a magical object could have accelerated their downfall? If we compare it to another Hallow—the Cloak, perhaps—we may find a clue."

"A curse… yes," Gellert deliberated. "It is possible… In fact, it is even _likely_ that the Stone is cursed. If _I_ were to create something as nefarious, I would most certainly curse it as well. The interesting thing about curses is that they become even stronger after the caster's death." He thought about it. "We shouldn't steal the Stone now, not until we have the other two Hallows. For if it is cursed—and I just have a feeling it might be—it will be almost impossible to do so undetected. Not only because of Marmaduke and his son but because the Stone itself might resist. Which means unwanted attention, one way or another."

He then looked at Albus. "Do you agree?"

"I do," the other wizard said earnestly. "Let us investigate first, let us look into the Cloak and the family it belongs to and assess what the risks are. Maybe the Stone's allegiance doesn't even belong to the Gaunts. Who knows how they acquired the Hallow?"

"I do like the idea," Gellert conceded. "We need to be smart about how we proceed."

He then went ahead, inviting them along. They had to hurry so that their absence would not be noticed in the village. 

Albus and Dieter lagged behind a little as they followed; neither of them was as athletic as Gellert. As Albus met Dieter's gaze, however, the latter gave him a small smile. It was the first one in a while, and one of impressed hope. Albus smiled back, his eyes reassuring. He had brought up the possible dangers of the Stone deliberately, and Dieter understood why. After all, they wished the same thing—to protect Gellert—and this was the beginning. 

 

**AN:** And with this, the heist begins... Well, sort of. We hope you like this one. Dieter and Albus make a good team—in fact, the whole trio works. It's almost like the trio we all know and love, having an adventure. Please feel free to let us know what you think!

P.S. Young Marvolo Gaunt did manage to procreate after all… And Gellert was right, it really was a disaster. We all know that disaster: his name was Voldemort. Funny how it worked out, isn’t it? :)


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

August crept upon them unexpected and unwelcome, though they had always known it would come eventually.

Professor Dippet had never answered Albus's request, and the latter was forced to recognise that his chance to bring Gellert and Dieter to Hogwarts was becoming very slim. The elderly Headmaster was known for having always struggled to sort his correspondence, and Albus's letter could indeed have remained unopened in a pile of parchment on his desk. Unless, of course, Professor Dippet was delaying on purpose, uncomfortable at the idea of outright rejecting his favourite pupil's request and therefore determined to pretend he had never received it in the first place. At times like this, Albus found himself truly loathing the self-imposed secrecy between wizards and their schools. He knew his friends would have loved such a visit.

Nevertheless, Gellert announced they were entitled to at least a little enjoyment during their summer break. None of them ever spoke of future those days. Their research on the two remaining Hallows kept them pleasantly occupied and pushed their worries to the back of their minds. Even so, tension was building subconsciously, and they _needed_ a rest.

Ireland was chosen as their destination: the homeland of the young hostess Dieter had taken such a liking to. They did not regret it. The Cliffs of Moher were much more imposing than any of them could have anticipated, and it took many hours before they decided to wander into a village and find a place to have dinner.

After the intense wind at the edge of the sea, the inside of the pub felt indescribably cosy. Candles and torches illuminated the interior of the cottage, and the cheerful melody of bagpipes filled its every nook. The three young wizards stepped through the door, their hair tousled and their faces pink from their walk in the wind. It had been the kind of walk Albus could not ever remember taking: the savage beauty of the sights had been breathtaking, and the company of his closest friends had made for the most perfect of afternoons. There was the scent of the ocean on their jackets and salty freshness on their skin.

The first thing they saw as they advanced through the dimly lit tavern was the group of dancing men and women at the back. The other villagers, seated around their drinks, were having an equally good time; many were clapping to the music. The owners of the pub were revealed to be a family of four, who chattered amiably with their guests in between their errands. As the young wizards glanced around, they saw that most Muggles were eating plain bread with their ale. One or two were enjoying stew made from potatoes, onions and what could be pieces of lamb. They converged on a free table, their faces mirroring each other's excitement. All three were positively ravenous.

Before they could discuss their options, they were approached by the owners' eldest son: a busy lad who could be two or three years younger than themselves.

"Cad is féidir liom a fháil?" he asked, his body already positioned to shoot off.

"Good evening," Albus said with a polite smile. "I wonder if the three of us may request glasses of mead."

The lad's eyes focused on his face, taking in his features and then his clothes. Albus could not help but notice that despite his less than enviable position where wealth was concerned, he was better dressed than most villagers. The same went for Dieter and even more so for Gellert, whose remarkable looks set him very much apart from everyone else.

"Tá," the boy said, "three glasses of mead."

"Would it be possible to have some bread and stew as well?" Albus added.

"Tá."

With a nod, the boy walked off towards his parents, and the wizards noticed a few heads turning towards them, as though only just noticing intruders in their midst. The looks were mostly blank—curious and assessing—but Albus found himself wondering whether the Muggle villagers saw them for what they were: more than foreigners. Admittedly, their wands were out of sight, and none of their magical attributes had been left on display.

"They don't like the English very much around here," he explained to his companions in a whisper. "One of the reasons is fairly recent. Fifty years ago, famine of unparalleled proportions occurred. All potato crops—the most widespread kind of food in this region—died. It was due to natural causes. Muggles died in hundreds of thousands, and as many left the country. They sent pleas for help, but the English government did not listen. They were fed and comfortable in London; their lives did not depend on potatoes. They couldn't imagine the extent of the damage. And to this day, the consequences are visible."

Dieter nodded; he seemed to be already familiar with this side of history.

"Funny, isn't it?" Gellert commented. "What disinterest can do."

"Zometimes eet eez better not to get involved," Dieter said cautiously.

"But not always."

The shorter wizard sighed, and Albus knew it no longer pertained to the subject of Muggle famine. He still was something of a newcomer to their group and did not always catch all the subtleties of the hints the two German wizards dropped between them. He did not like them arguing, though. Their day had been memorable, and he was positive he would never forget it. Dieter seemed to feel the same way, but he pursued the topic regardless, as if despite himself.

" 'As Gellert told you about zose insane ideas of 'is?" he addressed Albus, cocking his head in his countryman's direction.

Gellert smirked; he knew all too well where Dieter stood on this subject.

"We have discussed some of the ideas," Albus admitted, unable to hold back a smile. "Not the crazy ones, though. Gellert, is there something you haven't told me?" he uttered with playful indignation.

"Even crazier than searching for the three possibly most nefarious objects ever created?" Gellert returned cheekily. "Aren't you supposed to be the _good_ one, out of the three of us, Albus?"

Dieter coughed, his eyebrows raised, though this reaction only earned him a laugh.

"I'm serious, Gellert 'as vorld domination ambitions. Quite frankly, I am not sure vhy you 'aven't yet tried to make a run for eet, Albus."

It was Gellert who answered.

"First, Dieter, if I really was half as bad as you believe me to be, poor Albus would have a hard time hiding from me; let us be clear on this much. Second, world domination ambitions—how do you even imagine that?"

"You tell me. Vill you valk over to the prince-regent and force 'im to capitulate by turning 'im into a frog?"

"A fascinating idea, but even assuming I wanted to do this, I would have to turn not only the prince-regent into a frog, but the entire ruling class as well. Taking into account my region alone, I'd end up with hundreds of frogs, if not thousands. What would I even do with all of them? Open a frog exhibition? Honestly, that's a little insulting at this point. Not to mention the Ministry wouldn't take kindly to it. Imagine the headline it would make in the papers: _A mad Dark wizard was apprehended for frog obsession_."

"Fine, not frogs zen," Dieter laughed. "Maybe sheep or—"

"Sheep obsession, right. Much better."

"I am trying to be serious," Dieter sighed.

Gellert looked at Albus, who was in high spirits, enjoying their banter despite himself.

"Well, Albus, since Dieter wants us to be serious, let's amuse him. What do you think about my insane ideas?"

The English wizard laughed heartily, though he had to calm himself when the owners of the pub approached, bringing mead and bowls of stew. The master wore a somewhat fierce expression as he gave the three of them a penetrating look, as did his wife. At last, their son put bread on the table, and the wizards thanked them, watching them retreat.

"If I were to be honest," Albus resumed now that they were free to speak their mind again, "all you need to do in order to rule over Muggles is come to the court and give them a smile. They'd make you their king willingly enough."

It was meant to be a joke, but the look in his eyes implied he quite believed it. Dieter groaned at the direction their conversation had taken.

"But it's not what you truly want, is it, Gellert?" Albus went on more seriously. "Suppose we find all three Hallows this summer. What will you do next?"

"A few necessary changes that are long overdue," Gellert assured him. "You know all about it."

"Zere eet eez, I know about zese supposedly necessary changes too," Dieter sighed. "And I call ze whole idea madness."

"But why? Because you believe it is a bad thing?"

"Becauze I know eet eez."

Gellert shook his head. "You are simply following the narrative that has been fed to us since before we could even begin to form our own thoughts."

"Eet eez more zan just a narrative," Dieter insisted. "I know you 'aff a different outlook, but—"

"You know, I feel Auntie's influence is downright dangerous," Gellert pointed out before turning towards Albus. "Remember the very first evening you came for dinner? Remember our discussion on magical cooperation and the way Auntie would kill any such rebellious thoughts in their crib, mocking us for reading _scandalous_ Muggle literature?"

"I do," Albus nodded thoughtfully, tracing the edge of his plate with his fingers. He met the shorter wizard's gaze. "Dieter, why do you believe it is wrong to want equality between wizards and Muggles? It's not about ruling over anyone; it's about shifting the Ministry's perception so that wizards wouldn't be punished for being wizards. So much tragedy could be avoided. Not to mention there are more Muggles involved in our world than we think. Half-blood families are the most numerous of all; and in many countries, the Minister for Magic has a direct contact with the Muggle head of state."

Dieter regarded them both. "Eet zounds good on parchment, but in reality—"

"Nobody has ever tried," Gellert finished for him. "Look around this place. Are you feeling threatened?"

"No," Dieter admitted, "but—"

"But if something bad were to happen, you would be targeted regardless—and by fellow wizards at that," Gellert stated soberly. "This is the reality we live in nowadays. Our society has cornered itself—"

"No." For once, Dieter cut him off. "Ze ideas you haff might be coming from a good place, but—"

"But _what_?"

"But eet vill spiral out of control. Eef ze kind of change you haff in mind goes through, ze next zing you know, eet vill be giants vho vill demand zey be included in ze reform too."

Gellert rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of including giants, you know."

"Yes, and why eez zat?" Dieter went on. "Because you know ve cannot include zem even iff ve vanted to; violence eez in zeir nature. But iff you initiate zis change, ozers vill start demanding more leniency too, not just vizards. Next zing you know, zome Goblins vill go and torture Muggles and zay, 'but zis eez allowed now, ze new reform allows us to uze our magic freely'."

He looked at Albus. "Don't _you_ see 'ow eazy eet eez to run into problems? Ze secrecy vos put in place not only for vizards and Muggles but for everyone because eet eez ze only zing holding off ze—"

"That was the idea," Gellert intervened. "But whom does this archaic law really protect? Those who want to hurt _will_ hurt; they don't care about _any_ of the rules our joined magical governments may impose. Moreover, the more we make wizards responsible for all the conflicts, the faster the radical mood will grow."

"Albus, vot do you zink?" Dieter asked instead, unwilling to listen to any more of Gellert's arguments, which he _knew_ were not as sincere as he made them sound.

"I can see where you come from, and what you say is true," Albus replied after a while, his tone pensive. "But I feel the reform may still be beneficial if it's introduced very gradually. What we are looking for is that everyone in our world bear responsibility for their actions. Of course, there will always be skilled individuals who commit crimes and get away with them, but what I'm referring to is the entire system. It would make sense for wizards to answer to the Ministry of Magic and for Muggles to answer to Muggle authorities—they have their own system, which is more than capable of handling them. Right now, the Ministry of Magic keeps the Muggle Prime Minister in touch with only the vaguest events in our world and tries to impose their own justice on both worlds. But what if we reached out to Muggles and involved more of them? An entire section of their government, for instance? This way, all the Muggles who are parts of half-blood families would have someone to represent them. Muggle criminals would be punished by their own authorities, and proper trials would be held. It would be miles away from the current practice of Obliviating Muggles and punishing wizards for having magic."

He paused in thought. "I understand it is far more complicated than it sounds, and like Dieter said, the changes might do more harm than good. But with small, gradual steps, some improvements can be sought out at least in Europe. You know, of course, what it's like in America. They aren't even allowed to marry Muggles. All American wizards are therefore pure-bloods—or are supposed to be. But my mother was a Muggle-born, which means one of her ancestors had broken the law. You can imagine the stigma she bore before she married my father and came to England. It's... unjust, to say the least."

Gellert eyed him attentively. "I'm sorry to hear this. But this is yet another example of what is deeply wrong with the current system. We need to change it. The question is not whether we should but rather _how_ we should do it. We, wizards, often call ourselves superior. It is time to prove it."

There was nothing Dieter could do but gaze at them. They were out of their mind, both of them, though for completely different reasons. He might as well have remained quiet, for they still did not wish to understand that _any_ ideas of this nature could and would spiral out of control very easily. He decided he would address the issue with Albus alone, who struck him as more reasonable than Gellert. Not to mention he appeared utterly oblivious to the double meaning concealed in Gellert's words.

But now was not the time. Dieter therefore changed the subject. He found it curious that Albus's mother had been born in America.

"Eet eez… difficult to zink of you az anyzing ozer zan an Englishman," he said thoughtfully.

"That's true," Gellert agreed, abandoning the political talk as well. "After all, as far as Auntie is concerned, you are the epitome of the true Englishman."

Albus smiled. "I know, neither Ariana nor Aberforth nor myself look half-Native American, do we? And yet, I'm not all that much more English than you, Gellert. You are a quarter-Englishman yourself."

"Ah, yes, the well-guarded secret," Gellert confessed with a wink.

It was true: the very reason Gellert had come to Godric's Hollow was because nobody knew of his English connection. Getting to know Albus had not been a part of his plan.

But tonight was not about that. This outing was their adventure and reward for successfully locating the Resurrection Stone. It was also a unique opportunity to see something different and enjoy themselves.

They were silent for a moment as they finished their stew, which was both tasty and filling. The mead warmed them inside out, and they listened to a man's song, which alternated with the sounds of bagpipes.

"I've always wondered if it's difficult to play those," Gellert commented, observing the musician. "I think I want to try."

Before either of his friends could react, he stood up and headed towards the players. Albus gaped after him; while he was already used to Gellert's ease at bending social barriers, it still amazed him at times. Predictably, it took the blond wizard a minute to find common language with the musicians: after a brief chatter, the Muggle handed him the bagpipes, showing him the correct position of the drones and the way to move his fingers over the chanter to produce a melody. By the time Gellert blew into the mouthpiece, the pub guests had warmed up to his initiative, and they cheered. Under the men's encouragement, he attempted to improvise a short tune, in which one of the villagers joined with his drum.

Watching him experiment with the instrument, Albus shook his head in wonder.

"Like I said," he commented, "he could persuade the prince-regent to willingly give up his throne."

Dieter took in his dreamy gaze. He alone had appeared unsurprised by his friend's confident initiative, having witnessed many more of those. There were times when the intensity of the English boy's infatuation rendered him incredulous, and this was one of them. Cautious as ever, he kept those thoughts to himself. The evening was far too enjoyable.

Their leave from the pub was very different from their arrival. Gellert had bonded with the villagers, endearing his companions to everyone else in the process. Followed by wishes of good fortune, the three wizards walked out into the night and did not Disapparate until they found themselves in a deserted clearing. Albus breathed in the magic of that striking land, admiring the village on one side and the distant cliffs on the other. He wondered whether a Muggle who happened to see them vanish in the darkness would have mistaken them for fairy-like spirits from the old legends.

It was not until the following night that Albus could be alone with the one he loved. They went to the moors.

There was harmonious silence as they lay next to each other, panting a little. Nothing brought Albus greater pleasure than gently caressing Gellert's smooth, pale skin or running his fingers through his golden locks. He wished time could halt and allow them to remain in the moors, bathed in warmth and candlelight. It was raining, but the ground was dry inside their bubble of magic. They could see drops of rain sliding off the invisible barrier of the wards with a rather soothing sound. The softness of their enchanted blanket rivalled that of a bed, and as Albus felt Gellert's touch upon his side, he wondered if it was possible to feel any happier, any more grateful. What wealth, what power, what knowledge could come close to the kind of perfection that love was? He would gladly embrace poverty and obscurity for the rest of his life, should this be the price for Gellert's safety and love.

There was a pensive expression on the blond wizard's features.

"A Knut for your thoughts," Albus whispered.

"Hmm, how powerful could Gaunt be in your opinion?" Gellert pondered aloud.

"He may not look like much, but I don't think it would be wise to underestimate him," Albus said. "Even if he neglects everything else in his life, he is bound to be jealously guarding his Dark powers. They used to be notorious, the Gaunts, before they became what they are now. They were powerful, dangerous, violently radical. Why do you ask? Are you still considering stealing the ring?"

"You know, Dieter worries too much," came an idle response. "You should have seen him when we travelled. Ladies had finally started paying attention to him, you see. Only, for the wrong reasons. Good thing he had a rather smart older brother, who protected him from all harm. Poor thing, he would never have survived that train ride on his own."

Albus could not help but grin. He could recognise a diversionary tactic when he saw one.

"I am not surprised," he agreed. "By all means, he deserves ladies' attention. But while his reluctance to take part in stealing could be expected, he might have a point. We know where the Stone is; it's not going anywhere. No one else seems to know what it is."

"And yet, it is just within our reach," Gellert whispered huskily, no longer as relaxed. "Just imagine: one of the three essential components for the Ritual in our hands..."

His hand claimed Albus's, and he came closer, as if hypnotising him with his gaze and his voice. When a gentle kiss descended upon his lips, it came unexpected.

"... just like that," he finished.

Blinking, Albus struggled to bring his wits back about him. It was no easy task.

"I'm not opposed to the idea," he assured him. "I only want to be certain, quite certain that the Stone isn't so cursed as to harm its owner. Look at the Gaunts... If this is what it does to those who carry it—"

"If we were to surprise and attack them together, the Stone could be retrieved and placed into a protective case of enchantments or enclosed in a vessel so that no one would need to touch it. The curses of this kind are most dangerous when there is direct contact. But when there is none… it is safe."

There was something positively entrancing about the way Gellert spoke, as though he were a cursed object himself, and it did not help Albus's concentration in the slightest. It was not like a Veela's allure nor Imperius, both of which he could resist with Occlumency. It was Gellert's own charm, which he did _not_ want to fight. Yet he had to, for his lover's own sake.

"Gellert," he gasped, gathering the last remains of his willpower and embracing the other wizard to gently push him on his back, "we could end up in Azkaban for this. Or worse, we could become degenerate like the Gaunts. The Stone is not a wand; it doesn't need to be taken in a duel to have its allegiance won. We know nothing of the way it works."

Not without frustration, Gellert heaved a sigh. "I know. I just… don't want us to come too late. I feel we are so close, and yet so far."

He smiled then. "I am still confident poor Gaunt Senior has nothing on me."

"I should hope not." Albus gave him a passionate look. "The Stone isn't going anywhere, I promise. It will be there for the taking when we are ready. Gaunt won't give it away without a fight, and no one is likely to come near him until then. For now, let us look into the other Hallows, my love. They may be closer than we think. Why keep a cursed object on us for longer than necessary?"

"Persuasive," Gellert breathed. "You are positively frightening me: forceful, persuasive, pinning my arms to the ground… My, my… One day, you might just be my downfall." His eyes glinted mischievously. "You are not thinking about binding me right now, are you, Albus? Flogging me, perhaps?"

The words, while meant to tease and amuse, stung Albus into a feeling of shock. He guiltily removed his hands from Gellert's. The very idea of hurting him was unbearable.

"No," he breathed back, "never. I only want to keep you safe. I would never harm you. Ever."

"That's all right," Gellert said softly, watching him withdraw with something of wonder in his gaze. "Come here. I promise I won't go back there without you. Agreed?"

He pulled Albus closer and felt himself being embraced with all the tenderness the other wizard was capable of.

Outside of their haven, the rain continuously fell in fat drops, and the sound washed away everything else.

 

**AN:** A bit more of a filler chapter since we haven't touched upon politics yet. Please feel free to let us know if you liked the chapter regardless! Note how easily Gellert goes back on his word. He promised to let it go with the Stone, yet he's still thinking about it. People never notice it when he's being charming, but he simply tells them what they want to hear. A smart tactic there. 

The American discriminating laws are canon as well. Blame or praise JKR, but it's all there.

As to history, the prince-regent in question was none other then Prince Luitpold of Bavaria. After all, real-life personalities and places pop up all throughout the saga, making it the very allure of HP the franchise. From 1886 to 1912, Bavaria was ruled by Prince Luitpold, who was given regency due to the illness of King Otto I.


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

After that night, they were forced to spend some time apart. Gellert was busy researching the Hallows while Albus was led to think of his future: a future he dreaded more and more with every passing day. Madam Bagshot urged him to keep applying to various positions, some of which, truth be told, seemed a little too prestigious for a recently graduated half-blood wizard that he was. Still, the witch appeared to view him as her personal charity, and Albus knew better than to contradict her. Summer would soon come to a close, and one way or another, a change was imminent.

Anxiety was settling in. The idea of no longer being able to see Gellert left Albus agitated. It hurt to even think of it, and yet, unless they came up with a solution, it would become reality. There were moments when he struggled to breathe, his mind filled with the images of a bleak and joyless life devoid of Gellert's presence.

He did his utmost to help the German wizard, but there was an additional matter that required his attention: finding an arrangement for his siblings. He could not allow Aberforth to drop out of Hogwarts, and Ariana could not be left to her devices either. The only solution was to follow Gellert's advice and help her feel comfortable in the company of other well-meaning witches and wizards before it was too late. And among those, the Potters were the only ones he could turn to. 

It was with this thought that he woke up that morning, his mind set.

He walked towards the Potters' cottage, where he spotted the couple entertaining their little boy by casting colourful sparks. After a greeting, Albus asked Euphrosyne to tea in the afternoon and was pleased when she accepted at once. He apologised for not extending the same courtesy to her husband, but it appeared they already knew and understood the reason behind it, for they waved it off as a matter of course. He had the shrewd idea Madam Bagshot had been their unofficial informer.

On his way back, he saw Gellert looking out of the window and smiled at him, nodding to signify the meeting would be taking place that very day. They had discussed the possibility earlier and had agreed to try and question Mrs Potter on the Invisibility Cloak. 

Lunch went on as usual. Quaffy the elfling was learning fast, and Ariana praised him every time he cooked a new meal. Afterwards, Albus saw Aberforth head upstairs and knew this was his chance: his brother rarely went to his room during the day, usually finding chores to do in the kitchen and the garden. Unaware of being followed, Aberforth left his door ajar, and just as he turned around to change out of his slightly stained shirt, Albus acted.

" _Expelliarmus_."

His brother's wand flew up and into his hand, and Albus pocketed it. Then, quick as a flash, his own wand slashed through the air, conjuring a magical obstruction. This effectively trapped Aberforth inside his room, making it impossible for anyone to enter or leave.

"You are grounded," Albus announced in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's no use trying to get out of the window or in any other manner; the wards won't let you. I'm adding the Soundproof Charm as well. I suggest you use the time until dinner to think of your behaviour."

"WHAT THE—WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, ALBUS?" his brother yelled.

"It is for your own good," Albus said calmly, and with another flick of his wand, he rendered the room soundproof. 

Closing the door on Aberforth, he came downstairs. 

"Will you help me lay the table for tea in the garden?" he smiled at Ariana.

Together, they started prepping everything necessary for a pleasant tea session on the terrace, and Ariana helped without a word until she noticed the four cups and saucers he had taken out.

"Is someone else coming?" she asked, excited.

"I think we might have two guests," Albus said. "Gellert promised to drop by to see you. Also, a very nice lady, Mrs Potter—our neighbour."

Ariana looked at him and then down at the cups. "There is one missing. We are going to be five, not four."

"Aberforth went to have a nap." Albus lowered his voice conspiratorially. "He asked me to wake him up before dinner. After all, he's been getting up early all these days. I've been telling him: too many goats would wear anyone out."

She giggled but raised no more objections.

They finished the task with five minutes to spare, and right on cue, Gellert showed up in the garden. 

"Hello there," Albus smiled, coming forward to welcome him. 

Ariana approached as well, her pale face lit with a smile of her own.

"Hello, Albus, Ariana," Gellert returned in greeting. "How are you today?"

"We're very well, aren't we, Ari?" Albus said, and the girl nodded. "You are the first one to arrive. Please, make yourself comfortable; we have tea served on the terrace."

Against his better judgment, he glanced towards Aberforth's window, where her saw his brother glaring at them from behind the glass, and he fought to keep his face straight as he caught Gellert's eye. 

Thankfully, the blond wizard was more sensible than to look anywhere near the window; instead, he engaged Ariana in a chatter. He had, after all, the ability to maintain enjoyable small talk with just about anyone.

"What are these?" she inquired, pointing at the small pile of books he was carrying under his arm. 

"History books and some parchment."

She giggled. "You are like Albus!"

This caused Gellert to mock-grimace. "Merlin, no. Auntie makes me, I swear."

She laughed even harder at this; it was something of a recurring joke at their home, lamenting how much of a bookworm Albus was.

"But I have something for you too," he went on.

Curiously, Ariana looked at Albus to see whether he knew, but he looked just as surprised.

"What is it?"

Gellert handed her a beautiful object wrapped in a little bowtie; it resembled a miniature wand, except it had a graphite tip. 

"Everything you write or draw with it will become a little animated, or so I'm told. The tip will never wear off. I thought it might be fun to try. And there is this too, just to start with." 

He gave her a stack of parchment, and Ariana examined her gifts in wonder. 

Albus observed, moved by Gellert's thoughtful gesture. After her tragedy, his sister had spent years in fear of magic, and while having Quaffy around helped, for the little creature showed her not all magic was sinister in nature, she still was not in control of her own abilities. Starting with something as innocent as drawing or scribbling with an enchanted graphite pen would not even feel like magic, and yet, she would be in control, strengthening her magical core and thus, perhaps, reining in the parasitical force the Obscurus was.

"Thank you, Gellert," Albus said sincerely, putting an arm around the girl. "Aren't these the loveliest gifts, Ari?"

He felt so touched that he had forgotten all about his brother and what he had to be thinking at that instant. 

"Does it change colour?" Ariana asked, breaking the momentum.

"Hmm, I am not sure," Gellert mused. "I merely decided to get one for you. You will tell me, won't you?"

She nodded, still beaming and blushing a little as well, as Dorothy or Ada would be in her place. 

"Thank you."

"It's nothing." Gellert smiled. "Besides, I'm sure Quaffy will serve some homemade cheese for us. That's all I could ask for."

He glanced at Albus, who smiled back, and just then, they heard steps outside of the garden gate. Mrs Potter had joined them. Dressed in a magenta skirt and a silk blouse with a brooch, she was holding a parasol, her attire neither formal nor too casual. The two young men advanced, and after kissing her gloved hand, Albus moved aside to make room. 

"Mrs Potter, may I introduce my closest friend and Madam Bagshot's great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald?"

She smiled, holding out her hand to the German wizard. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Grindelwald."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Potter," Gellert replied, following Albus’s example. "I am happy to have the opportunity to finally make your acquaintance. I hope to meet Mr Potter in the nearest future as well—I apologise I couldn't be present the night Auntie hosted the dinner. I'm afraid I lost my chance at a formal introduction."

"Not to worry," she assured him. "Silas will be delighted to make your acquaintance, as I am. Your great-aunt always speaks very highly of you."

As they exchanged courtesies, Albus gave his sister an encouraging nod, and she came forth, still clutching her presents to her chest. 

"You must be Ariana," Euphrosyne said gently. "I'm happy to meet you. My name is Euphrosyne Potter."

"You are the rich lady," Ariana commented without skipping a beat. "I have seen you from the window. Abe says you pose a lot."

Albus wanted to die of shame right there and then. He looked helplessly at Gellert, who, unable to help himself, let out a small cough.

_Did Aberforth have to belittle everyone in front of their sister?_

Being antisocial was one thing; expressing such thoughts in Ariana’s presence was quite another. Having been sheltered all her life, she was not used to people, and it was only to be expected that she would repeat everything she heard. 

As it was, the girl herself smoothed the situation.

"But I think you are nice," she went on. "I have seen you with the little boy. He is very cute—he's not mean, is he?"

"His name is Charlus," Mrs Potter said softly. "He is my son; he is two years old, and a very sweet boy. Would you like to see a picture?"

She opened the little locket on her necklace and showed Ariana the photograph of a baby. Ariana examined it thoughtfully.

"I have seen him from the window—his hair was messy, just like on the picture. Does everybody have such hair in your family?"

"My husband Silas does," Mrs Potter admitted. "Whatever he does, he cannot make it lie flat."

Albus took advantage of Ariana's moment of reflection to invite them all to table at the back garden, where tea and refreshments awaited.

"Thank you so much again for Quaffy, Mrs Potter," he said, Charming the teapot to pour tea into the cups while a knife chopped some bread and cheese on a small board. "He is now a treasured member of our family."

"Quaffy is yours?" Ariana asked, making the connection. "You won't be taking him back, will you? I love Quaffy..."

"Not at all," Mrs Potter assured her, lifting her cup with one elegant hand. "Quaffy is your family now. I hope he can become your friend and companion for life."

Ariana beamed, for once genuinely happy.

"Look what Gellert got me," she boasted, revealing her new pen. 

"What a lovely gift," Mrs Potter exclaimed. "These are great fun. An Italian invention, if I am not much mistaken, Merlin knows they win all art-related competitions." She turned towards the German wizard. "We've had the pleasure of meeting your friend, Mr Heiderfeld. How are you finding England, Mr Grindelwald?"

"I like it very much," Gellert said. "Everything is different; I wouldn't even know where to begin—everything from the most mundane habits to the very landscape seems quaint to me. I am happy to be discovering something new every day. Auntie showed me a few wizarding genealogy tomes, and when Albus told me who he had attended school with, it all came together, and I decided to be a historian, just like Auntie."

He smiled pleasantly, and Albus knew he was already steering the conversation towards the Hallows.

"I don't know why Abe doesn't like you," Ariana shrugged.

"Oh." Gellert coughed with a somewhat awkward expression. "Well, Aberforth doesn't know me well yet."

She girl sniggered.

"He is taking a nap, Mrs Potter," she explained to the refined witch.

"Aberforth is a little grumpy, but he means well," Albus assured them. 

With a polite smile, Mrs Potter returned to the subject of history. "Don't tell me. These must be those wizarding genealogy volumes."

Gellert produced his books, several of which were the numbered editions of _Gatrell's Guide to Wizarding Genealogy_. They were rare publications, and very valuable too; Albus was not surprised to find them in Madam Bagshot's possession.

"Indeed," the blond wizard nodded enthusiastically. "I've been dying to read them, rare as they are."

As he opened one at the middle, they saw the pages were infused with magic: the family trees would update on their own when new members were born.

"And here is Mrs Potter," he said, pointing towards the bottom of a rather long Potter family tree. "See, Ariana?"

The girl looked closely, fascinated.

"Charlus," she read aloud, her eyes on the name just below Euphrosyne Potter's, which she connected with the little boy with messy jet black hair.

"Are we in there?" she asked Albus before turning towards Gellert. "Are you?"

"Hmm, I might be," the latter mused. "But I doubt it; I come from very far away."

She frowned. "You are from another school. Is it big like Albus's school? Albus says it's very big."

"It should be," Gellert said. "No one knows for sure. It's hidden in the mountains."

The girl's eyes widened. "In the mountains? Like hills?"

"No, big mountains," he said dramatically. "I can draw them for you."

"You can draw?"

"I'm quite good at it."

He looked at Mrs Potter.

"I've noticed there are a few faded branches in the Potter lineage. If you tell me a little about them—since we are on the subject of drawing—I can add the missing branches as well and show them to Auntie so that we can complete the family tree—even if it _is_ hypothetical."

Albus had to mentally applaud the skilful way Gellert had found to approach the topic. He watched Mrs Potter lean thoughtfully over the book, examining the names. 

"It is hypothetical indeed," she uttered, "but it is strongly believed Euphemia Potter from 15th century married one Abraham Weasley. To my knowledge, they do not seem to have had descendants. Hardwin Potter, 13th century, married one Iolanthe Peverell. The current line of the Potters is directly descended from them, though a few names appear to be lost. You understand, Mr Grindelwald, chroniclers were different in those times, possessing fewer ways of authenticating facts and establishing the connections."

Gellert sighed. "I do, Mrs Potter. Times were different, and the Statute of Secrecy went so far as to forbid keeping accurate records. It reached a point where one could no longer be sure what was true and what was a myth. But what do you think? There really was a marriage between a Potter and a Peverell? Is it an established fact?"

"It is an established fact," she nodded, taking a small biscuit from the tray. "Every old noble family has its coat of arms and its heirlooms. When Ignotus Peverell gave his daughter to Hardwin Potter, a number of relics passed from the dying line to the latter, and the Peverell coat of arms can be seen in our London house amid the crests of all those who have married into the family."

Albus could feel excitement rising inside him, but he maintained a neutral expression. 

"What does your coat of arms look like, Mrs Potter?" Gellert asked with mild yet endearing curiosity. "Did any elements from the Peverell crest fuse with those of the earlier Potter one?"

Euphrosyne turned a page and pointed at an ornate coat of arms. "Just one element. If you look at this detail around the frame, it is absent in the earlier, simpler versions of the crest. It only appeared after 13th century."

Albus studied the picture. That element could best be described as a ribbon intricately draped around the crest itself. Not unlike... a cloak. 

He felt his heartbeat speed up. And almost at once, a thought occurred to him: if the Potters had inherited the Cloak in the same way as the Gaunts had inherited the Stone, could it be that the Cloak was not cursed? Or maybe neither was the Stone, meaning the Gaunts' downfall had been entirely their own doing?

He glanced at Gellert, wondering if the latter was thinking along the same lines.

A shadow of a triumphant smile made the blond man's features positively shine in the sunlight. So much so that had Ada been around, she would not have resisted drooling.

"It's fascinating," he remarked. "Such a subtle detail..."

Ariana leaned forward, trying to see what they were admiring, and Albus passed her the book, tearing his eyes off the German wizard. He needed to slip back into his role of the host. 

"Please help yourself to some confetti, Mrs Potter," he said. "Gellert, some cheese?"

"Forgive me, Mrs Potter," Gellert resumed a few seconds later, managing his most charming smile yet. "It's not difficult to see why I'm inclined to follow in Auntie's footsteps: history is fascinating. Usually, you can see how it comes together in wedding gowns—my mother's gown had elements from both sides of her ancestry when she married my father. I am sure the custom is similar in England, and yet, it is still rare to see the groom's family adopt new elements in his own coat of arms after the wedding. I find it a nicely subtle gesture when it does happen. Still, from what I've seen in these volumes, it is a rare occurrence. The majority of crests have remained nearly identical throughout the centuries—most notably that of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The Grims and the swords must have featured there since the very start."

"It's true, there are a few families whose attributes never change," Mrs Potter agreed. "The Blacks, of course, are notorious for their pride in their ancient blood, and so are the Malfoys. Among the Light families, the Prewetts are known for never adopting new elements. For my part, I did the same as your lady mother: my gown combined the elements of both Houses."

Ariana looked up, interested.

"What was your wedding dress like?" she asked. "Did it have stones on it? Abe always says you have too many stones on you."

Albus wanted to hit his head against the table. There it was again, Aberforth slandering people in front of their sister.

"It had stones, actually," Mrs Potter smiled reminiscently, as though she had not heard the girl’s last sentence. "My dress was rather slim with very puffy sleeves. It was made of layers of silk and lace and came with a tiara of flowers and a floor-length veil that covered my face. There was a decoration made of flowers and stones on one side of my waist and a lace ornament around the high collar."

"Sounds beautiful," Ariana said dreamily.

"It was," Gellert asserted. "I can just imagine it… Want to see?"

The young witch frowned in disbelief. "But you weren't there!"

"No, but I can draw, remember?" he returned smugly. "Here is what we do: Mrs Potter just described how beautiful her dress was—did you pay attention? I challenge you to draw it exactly as it was described."

The girl looked him, sceptical. "You can do that?"

"There is only one way to find out. Once I'm finished, we will show it to Mrs Potter. If it's drawn as described, I win."

"Win what?" 

"A cake. Albus will bake one for us without Quaffy's help."

"Albus doesn't know how to cook well—mama always cooked."

"Well, then, he'll learn." Gellert shrugged. "Besides, it looks as if you were getting bored with all the book talk."

It was true. Unlike Albus, neither Ariana nor Aberforth were bookish; Gellert had been rather sharp to spot that much.

"Will you draw your school too?" Ariana asked, excited to do something else.

"First, let's do the dress."

"All right."

"Do you have crayons or pencils? Or only quills?" he wondered.

"Let me see." 

The girl scurried off to her room to see what she had available. 

Albus bit his lip. Now seemed to be the right moment. Gellert gave him a discreet nod; he had distracted Ariana on purpose.

"Mrs Potter," he started hesitantly, "you and Mr Potter have done so much for us, and we can never thank you enough. The truth is... the circumstances of my family are now such that I find myself compelled to beg you for an even greater favour."

"What is it, Albus?" the witch asked, putting down her cup, her hazel eyes attentive.

"September will soon be upon us, and my brother Aberforth will return to Hogwarts. As the head of the family, it will be my duty to provide for both my siblings, and I will have to find an employment. But it might require that I work long hours, probably away from home. And Ariana... she will only have Quaffy for company, maybe for many days on end."

"If I may," Gellert added, "I know it is not entirely appropriate, but Auntie says… well, due to these circumstances, Aberforth might be planning on staying home."

"It's true, he has brought it up," Albus admitted, "but I don't think it would be wise for him to stay home. He only has two years left to complete his education at Hogwarts."

At this point, Ariana came back, clutching a collection of crayons and a few sheets of parchment. 

"This is all I could find," she panted.

Gellert examined it. "All right, let's get to work. You might want to find your apron, Albus."

Ariana giggled at this.

"Do you remember everything, Ari?" he went on. "Exactly as Mrs Potter described it? You are going to help me."

"I think so," she said. "I have to think."

"Well, we'll be back soon," Gellert promised.

He bowed a little to Mrs Potter, and with a smile at Albus, led the girl a little further away so that they could sit on the stairs, out of the others’ hearing range. Ariana seemed quite absorbed in what he was doing, so Albus found he could speak to Mrs Potter freely.

He looked up at her. "I will completely understand if you cannot help me. It will change nothing in the friendship and gratitude my family and I have for you. I have to ask, though, to beg you to please help us if you can."

Mrs Potter reached out to put her hand on his in a comforting gesture. "Albus, dear, I understand. And I will be very happy to help. So will Silas."

"You are very kind," he said, holding her gaze. "But you see, I haven't yet told you the whole truth."

There was no gentle way of breaking it.

"Ariana is an Obscurial," he confessed quietly.

Mrs Potter's expression did not change, but her felt her hand twitch on his.

"When she was a child, she was attacked by a group of Muggle boys, which severely distressed her. The experience was so painful that her magical core became unbalanced. And now, when she becomes upset, she can lose control of her magic in an unpredictable way and needs to be soothed and comforted at once."

For a few seconds, he observed the girl while she watched Gellert draw. "I know it is too much to ask for, and I will understand if you cannot help me, Mrs Potter; truly, I will. You have a family of your own. But maybe you have an idea. If I don't find a situation—something Gellert has already started helping me with—I will soon have no way of feeding my siblings."

"I will talk to my husband," the witch promised, her fine features compassionate. "We will do everything we can to help, Albus. You are a good boy, you both are, and she is a sweet child. Let me take your case to Silas."

"Thank you," he said humbly before kissing her hand. "It goes without saying she will not be living at your expense. Whatever money I earn will be split between her and Aberforth."

"Albus," she objected, her voice firmer and somewhat reproachful without losing its gentle quality, "I will not hear of this. It is sweet of you to offer, but the answer is no."

He thanked her again, overwhelmed with emotion. Truly, he could never make it up to the Potters for as long as he lived. He felt his heart soar at the idea that his siblings would be well cared for. And maybe, _maybe_ a separation between him and Gellert would not be inevitable after all. 

As if on cue, the German wizard raised his head to glance at him and received a tiny nod in response. He and Ariana approached the table, appearing to argue playfully.

"Well, Mrs Potter?" he asked, displaying the picture he had drawn. 

It depicted a voluminous dress decorated with a flowery waistband and a high collar. Although a good sketch, it was nothing like Mrs Potter’s description.

"I told you, you got it wrong," Ariana said, exasperated.

"I did?"

"Yes, Mrs Potter said the dress was slim. And there should be a stone ornament here, not flowers..."

"Well, that's embarrassing." Gellert sighed. "Well, it means the cake is on me."

Albus smiled, inspecting the drawing. He had a shrewd idea what Gellert had just done, but first and foremost, he was impressed. Was there anything his companion could not do to perfection?

"It's still very well done," he said.

Mrs Potter was smiling as well. "What did your mother's wedding gown look like, Mr Grindelwald? Do you know?"

"It was very traditional, as far as I can remember." Gellert quickly sketched the silhouette and showed the others.

"Ah, yes, I recognise the patterns," she nodded. Typical for German fashion, the dress had a narrow waist with a medium-thick skirt adorned with a long train, voluminous bubble sleeves and lacy details on the chest. Albus could imagine how beautiful the girl on Gellert's pocket picture, who had later grown into a woman, must have looked in it. "My compliments, Mr Grindelwald. It was a beautiful dress fit for a beautiful lady. You have quite the skill when it comes to drawing." Mrs Potter winked at Ariana. "Later, you can tell me if you liked the cake, my dear."

She then stood up and offered the blond wizard her hand to kiss. "It was lovely to make your acquaintance. I'm sure we will have a chance to meet again soon."

Turning towards Albus, she added, "I will not forget my promise. As soon as I confer with my husband, I will come to you."

And at last, she said goodbye to the young witch.

"It's been very enjoyable to meet you, Ariana, dear. I hope we can be friends."

A few courtesies later, the boys escorted her out of the garden and watched her leave. Albus glanced behind him to ensure Ariana was still pouring over the sketches at their terrace table. 

"Mrs Potter has promised to discuss the matter with her husband," he said to Gellert. "She has been very kind."

He almost touched the other wizard's hand, but it occurred to him Aberforth might just faint at the sight if he was watching.

"So the Cloak has been passed onto the Potters," he commented. "Can you believe it? Two of the Hallows already!"

Gellert frowned; for some reason, he appeared far from happy.

"So it seems. We shouldn't leave Ariana all by herself, you know."

Albus nodded, turning to go back towards the terrace.

"You are thinking we cannot steal the Hallow from a nice family that wants to help us," he whispered. "I know. I'm thinking the same."

The blond wizard smiled grimly. "Either you are more like me than I thought, or you know me far better than I suspected. But yes, they obviously keep this heirloom secret—and protected—passed from father to son. It could be anywhere: in any of their properties or in their Gringotts vault. Ethical considerations aside, it might even be impossible to steal. Unlike our friend Gaunt Senior, the Potters don't exactly flaunt the purity of their blood or their invaluable heirlooms."

"Very true." Albus sighed. "Still, for all it's worth, we know now. Only the Elder Wand remains to be located."

They had now reached Ariana, who looked up at approaching Gellert.

"You draw well, but your memory is terrible."

"Not everyone is as smart as Albus," he shrugged.

"Albus is too smart. Abe says he always shows off and never does _anything_."

Wisely ignoring the jab, Gellert changed subject.

"Will you try to draw anything yourself tonight?" He nodded towards the enchanted graphite-tipped pen made to look like a miniature wand. 

Ariana blushed, as if embarrassed. "It looks so pretty that I don't want to unwrap it yet." 

"It's meant to be used, you know." He smiled at her in encouragement. "Tell you what: you try to sketch something, and I'll try to bake the cake."

Ariana could not be happier. She positively basked in the attention he was bestowing upon her. Albus's heart squeezed painfully at yet another manifestation of her loneliness: despite everything, all she wanted was to be included. Instead, she was being kept away from the world for her own safety. 

Since it was well in the afternoon, there was not much left to be said. It was polite of Gellert to leave, and Albus would be left to release his brother. He walked the German wizard to the gate, his heartbeat speeding up as, once again, his thoughts wandered to the dreaded future. And this time, he found he could not bear to stay silent. 

"Gellert," he said quietly, "there is something I wanted to ask."

When the deep blue eyes met his own, he swallowed. 

"I know you might not be happy with me right now, but I’ve never told you anything but the truth." He paused, wishing his heart stopped pounding with such despair. "The truth is, I love you. I wish to be with you, if you'll have me. And if this arrangement works out and Mrs Potter agrees to take Ariana in… would you consider letting me come with you and Dieter?"

For a few seconds, Gellert looked at him, and then his expression morphed into a grin.

"I've been meaning to invite you along."

Taking a deep breath was a necessity, for Albus's heart was threatening to jump out of his chest.

"You have?"

He thought of the past week, during which they had only seen each other in Madam Bagshot's presence. He had had the distinct feeling that despite his promise, Gellert had expected support for his plans on stealing the Stone.

"I have," his companion assured him. "I followed your advice, didn't I?"

_Could it truly be?_

Albus felt something blossom inside him, unable to believe it, unsure whether the joy that was flooding his limbs was real.

"Then I am happy. Don't be angry with me, Gellert."

"I'm not going to lie, I wasn't pleased with the way you sided with Dieter,” Gellert confessed. “But thinking about it… you're right. You both are. There is not much time left, Albus. They are looking for me, not to mention I won’t be able to fool Auntie for much longer. Say what you will of her, but she is not dim. I've been able to convince her our diplomas were sent directly to our homes, and luckily, she has been rather preoccupied with organising your future to pay attention, but this is the first and the last time that I have ever stayed in her house. I will not be welcome to set my foot over her threshold ever again. She took me in out of respect for my father, but my father is dead, and I am not the kind of wizard she wants to be associated with, family or not. The least I could do while here was do research. I am not angry, though. It is, after all, your advice that has led us to the discovery of the second Hallow."

Albus nodded, his resolve solidified. It was as though enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But with this happiness came awareness of the dangers ahead.

They were, indeed, running out of time. The notion was frightening.

"Albus?"

The English wizard looked up. 

As if in a déjà-vu, Gellert's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Aberforth won't be happy about what you did today. Call me if you need help."

This offer was extended in the same tone as his warning back when they had returned from Knockturn Alley and Albus had had to slip home undetected. He could remember that night only too well: it was when he had first realised he might have feelings for Gellert. The first time they had called each other by their first names. Everything had already been in motion back then. 

 

 **AN:** Stay or go? This is the point where choices will have to be made as summer draws to its end.


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

Purchasing magical items was a luxury Albus could rarely afford. Books were a special case, and even then, he found ways to borrow them or obtain them second-hand. Aberforth, Ariana and himself owned a few sets of clothes for the necessary occasions, and their mother had taught them to take a good care of them so that they would last. Magic and resourcefulness provided solutions for everything else. There was, however, one shop in Godric's Hollow that had always suscited his interest: wizards' antiques. It was small and dusty and open only twice a week, but it was full to bursting of extraordinary magical items, some of them centuries old. He had only been there once before, and since then, he had resisted coming again for fear of pining over rare heirlooms he could never afford. But on this morning, he saw the elderly shopkeeper light a candle behind the stuffy display case and entered on impulse.

The air in the shop carried the scent of old parchment and wood and fabric. There were enchanted statuettes, exotic decorations, ancient dishes and goblets, fragile-looking dolls with painted features and long eyelashes. Slowly, with a sense of wonder, he looked through the goods, taking them in one by one. He was not sure what he was looking for—if, indeed, he was looking for something. And yet, when, a moment later, his eyes landed on two extraordinary items, he knew there had been a purpose to this detour.

One of them was a small box made of wood, which bore a hand-painted and moving map of the world. The ocean shimmered in candlelight. According to the tag written in faded cursive, it bore Charms that allowed the box to store nearly unlimited content and to be opened only by the wizard to whom it belonged. As soon as his eyes stopped on this object, Albus knew it was meant to belong to Gellert.

The other magical item struck him as equally meaningful. It was a beautifully shaped hourglass full of golden sand. Gold reminded him of the Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts and Dieter's warm nature. Enchanted to glow in the dark, the sand could flow as quickly or as slowly as its owner commanded, thus making it suitable for measuring time.

Albus was aware his finances were near the very bottom, but he had enough Galleons for these gifts, and he wished to buy them. Not as souvenirs—not now that he had decided he would be coming with Gellert and Dieter. No, they were meant as small tokens of his friendship and, hopefully, useful magical artifacts. He paid for his purchases and left, the two objects wrapped carefully inside his bag. There was a feeling of deep contentment inside him, as though his life had always been meant to flow in this direction.

Only one worry gnawed at his certitude: if the Potters could not extend a helping hand towards Ariana after all, he would have to find a different arrangement, and everything could become complicated. As of now, though, there was hope, and it was exciting to imagine their life changing at last. Everyone would be happier: Ariana would spend time within a cheerful and caring family; Aberforth would go to Hogwarts, where the burden of running a household would no longer weigh on his shoulders; and he, Albus, would be free to help Gellert and Dieter secure their safety and their dreams.

Right on cue, the sound of his name reached him, and he looked up, smiling as he came face to face with one of his friends.

"Good morning, Dieter."

"Morgen," Dieter said brightly. "I, um, meant to 'ead over to your 'ouse, but eet eez good zat we met 'ere. How are you? Vhere haff you been?"

"I had a few purchases to make," Albus smiled. "What are you up to? Would you like to find a place to sit down?"

Dieter nodded. "Yes, we can do zat. Or iff zere eez no place, we can 'ave a valk."

"Let's go," Albus agreed, casting a curious glance at his cheerful face while they set off down the street. "You look pleased. Has there been some good news?"

The blond boy grinned at him. "I do not know 'ow you do eet, Albus, but keep doing eet. I haff been trying for years wiz no success, but you haff found a way."

"What do you mean?"

"Ve are not doing eet. You know, ze Ritual. Gellert 'as decided not to. 'E eez… vait, I know ze word: _brooding_ , yes—upstairs. He doez not like it vhen he doesn't get what he vants, you zee, but you convinced 'im!"

He looked at the English wizard as though the latter had special powers of sorts. But as the full meaning sank in, Albus felt his insides grow cold.

"Oh… That is good news but... not really my merit. I only proposed that we research further." He pressed a hand against his face. "Oh, Merlin. Gellert is brooding? He must be upset."

A little guilty, Dieter hastened to comfort him.

" 'E vill get over eet; 'e eez upstairs right now, painting. Ze important zing eez zat we are not doing eet. Albus, trust me, eet eez a good zing. I studied zis kind of magic, and only ze most desperate vizards resort to eet."

The other boy sighed, suddenly dejected. "The truth is... I wasn't completely opposed to his plan. I only wanted him to research it thoroughly so that he would know what he was doing and would gradually realise his focus ought to be on the changes he means to make. I'm glad he has decided against stealing the Stone, which seems to be a Cursed and dangerous object. That being said... I hate to see him upset, Dieter. He has his fears, and right now, he is probably feeling more lost than ever."

Dieter frowned. He could tell the Dark Arts had found their way to Albus's heart. Perhaps Gellert was to blame, but it could also have been a part of the English wizard all along.

"Albus, you do realise you vere villing to go zrough wiz ze mozt terrible kind of magic zat 'ad ever been practised by vizardkind?"

 _Or did he realise it?_ The German boy regarded him carefully, as if trying to see to the bottom of his mind. 

"All I want is to keep him safe," Albus assured him earnestly. "I don't wish him to acquire dangerous relics that could wreck his mind and body, no. But I understand why he covets them. You know of his Sight: his visions show him death. He seems to be surrounded by death. There was the accident involving Ignat, and now, both your life and his may be in danger. He feels those objects are the only certain solution for escaping the worst fate. And while I want to help him leave this idea behind, it has to be done gradually. Telling Gellert not to do it won't work; he will do it regardless. You probably know this better than I do, Dieter."

The blond wizard heaved a sigh.

"I haff… taken a certain diztance. Eet eez difficult for me. Gellert uzed to be my best friend, but 'e 'as changed; zometimes I truly don't know 'im any more. I vant to believe 'e eez good, but Dark vizards know 'ow to mess wiz your 'ead."

After a short silence, he went on.

" 'Ow do you know 'e 'asn't messed wiz your 'ead, Albus? You zeem… addicted to 'im, just like ze ozers before you. You vere villing to go along wiz zomething as terrible as Necromancy. You zay you did it to dissuade him from ze idea, but eez eet true? You know, none of ze practitioners vill admit zey are mad. Mozt of zem zink zey 'ave it all under control, and zen one day, zey kidnap zomeone and sacrifice zem because ze Ritual demands payment in blood. Durmstrang varns very sternly against practising zis type of magic."

Albus let his gaze wander about the street. His friend had raised very valid and perceptive points.

"I knew very little about those objects outside of the children's story," he admitted. "When Gellert introduced me to the idea, I could see it was important to him. He was frightened, understandably so, and I wanted to explore his plan and see if it was viable. Perhaps I should have rejected it straight away, but I knew nothing about Necromancy and... I won't lie, Dieter: I was curious. It is an interesting topic in a macabre way. But then I saw the Gaunts and realised the implications: Gellert would be far worse off with such 'protection'. So I suggested that he look into the Cloak so that he would reach the same conclusion on his own. Guidance, I believe, is the only way to persuade him as he is otherwise used to making his own decisions."

"Yes," Dieter agreed, "zat 'e eez. Which leads me to a different subject: don't you zee 'ow dangerous 'is political ideas are?"

"They come from the right place," Albus said confidently. "If we give up without trying, why should anything ever change? I'm not in favour of anything radical, but I believe that little by little, gradual changes can be brought about. It has to be thought through, and there is a delicate balance, certainly. Yet small improvements can go a long way." He looked up. "You truly don't believe there is hope for wizards?"

"I know zat eef one person or a group of people starts deciding vot eez good for everyone else, zat eez vhen zings go bad," Dieter explained soberly. "Because 'ow can one person decide on behalf off everyone? Vot right do zey haff to do so?" He let that sink in. "Ideas of zis kind haff claimed many innocent lives, and zey are dangerous _precisely_ because zey seem good."

The English wizard considered this.

"You are very right on this account. But… all together, we could still achieve something that would be fair and beneficial." He paused. "I don't know if Gellert has told you... I asked him to let me come with the two of you when summer is over. He said yes. I hope it's all right, Dieter. He means well, and whatever it may look like, he does not loathe Muggles. He wants equality between us—which, right now, is nonexistent."

Dieter watched him in some disbelief. Albus was willing to throw away his own future for Gellert's sake. It was his duty as a friend to at least try and make him reconsider.

"I'm afraid you ztill don't understand. You believe everyzing he does eez good. How vould you feel iff he decided vhat's best for you and forced you to do eet? Doesn't your brozer zink you shouldn't be zeeing Gellert for your own good? Zat's no different. Eet makes you angry. But at least your brozer doesn't 'old you at vandpoint."

Albus could not argue this point. If anything, Aberforth's desire to keep him away from the man he loved _for his own good_ did nothing but increase his resentment. And yet, he himself was hardly better, especially when he had grounded his brother to take measures behind his back. Their relationship was as far from healthy as could be. Still, he was confident there was hope for Gellert, whose wish for improvement came from the heart. After everything he had suffered, he craved justice and not revenge—for wizards and Muggles alike.

"No, he doesn't," he admitted quietly. "But… what else is there to do, Dieter? Gellert won't settle for a quiet life; not for a long time. His entire being is focused on the improved society he has envisioned; he has made it the focus of his life."

But his friend had something else on his mind, and it came out in a sudden burst of emotion.

"Do you know vot bozers me ze most? 'E ztill 'asn't apologised. Not to mention… you know vot I zink? I zink 'e just panicked vhen 'e saw 'e 'ad killed Ignat. But instead of admitting eet, vot does 'e do? E' makes a run for eet and makes sure to ruin ze only chance either of us 'ad for a good career. I 'ad been vorking for zat diploma zince my first day at Durmstrang!"

He exhaled, trying to calm down. "Ze zing eez, 'e eez still my friend. But ze way 'e just decides vot eez best and does eet… I am zorry, but no amount of pretty speeches vill cover up for 'is _actions_ , which haff not been good at all. And you know vot eez mozt infuriating about zis? Zat nobody sees 'ow wrong 'e eez. On ze contrary, everybody enables 'im to do vot 'e pleases because zey think 'e's _handsome_..."

Dieter grimaced, as if disgusted. "I zwear, eet eez like 'e only needs to znap 'is fingers, and people come running. Vell, either zat, or they hate 'im. But still. And Gellert _never_ bozers to apologise. Eet makes me angry."

Under different circumstances, Albus would have chuckled at the exasperated mention of Gellert's good looks, but this time, the matter was nothing to laugh at. Dieter had a reason, a very good reason to be hurt. Only, Albus understood Gellert and was not convinced he would have acted differently at his place.

"I know," he sighed. "I tried to talk to him about it… He is proud, like you mentioned. It can be the most infuriating trait in the world, though in some situations, it can also become a source of strength. As it is, we can try to keep him from doing anything this dangerous again. We may not be able to change who he is, but we can keep him safe, and each other as well. That's why I want to come with you. I'll do everything to help."

"Eef I am 'onest, I vant you to come zo zat I 'ave zomeone else for company—not just Gellert," Dieter laughed before growing serious. "But vot about you, Albus? Haff you really thought about it vell? You say you azked to come wiz us yourself. Vhy? Viz ze results like yours, you can do anyzing. Madam Bagshot 'elps you get ze best of ze best. I zink she—I mean… she vants ze best for you, and you _can_ haff ze best."

Albus looked up, as if understanding what Dieter had refrained from saying aloud. For some reason, Madam Bagshot often treated him with more affection than her own great-nephew.

"I'm very grateful for all she has done for me," he confessed. "I could find a job and stay here, it's true... but I can't be happy this way, not any more. I know it sounds terrible when I put it this way, but I feel it would be _right_ of me to come with you and Gellert."

"Look, Albus, you haff to see ze patterns wiz Gellert: he 'as not been 'onest wiz you," the blond wizard objected. "He confessed nozing until absolutely forced to do so. But eef he could 'ave avoided confession, he vould 'ave. And zat eez not good, don't you see?"

"Are you sure he would have avoided confession forever?" Albus mused. "I think it makes sense he wasn't honest with me from the start. He needed to be sure he could trust me before opening up on the subject of Ignat's death."

The other boy shook his head. "Wiz Gellert… I don't know, off course, but vhen we first arrived and I azked 'im vhy he invited you to dinner even zough you 'ad a mourning band around your arm, 'e zaid 'e just needed contacts and zat we needed to start somewhere… I zometimes really vant to believe in 'im, but vhat eef 'e doesn't deserve eet? Vot eef everyzing 'e does 'as a selfish purpose? Aren't you in ze least bit afraid of 'ow dishonest 'e eez? You might be giving 'im everyzing, and 'e… vot eef 'e eez not villing to do ze same?"

Truth be told, Albus had often wondered why Gellert had suggested inviting him to dinner that day. In his ignorance, his imagination had conjured a variety of reasons. Now that he knew, however, it was not something to be offended over. The first time Gellert had seen Albus, he had been a fresh newcomer to the village, worried and uncertain, having spent a while on the run. Albus could hardly expect him to have had any other motive for inviting him—certainly not love at first sight. Gellert had done nothing wrong: in his precarious situation, he _did_ need contacts. 

"I struggle to explain it," he said, "but… I'm not afraid, not truly. I have a feeling it's right. That is to say, it's not easy. My brother will hate me for what I'm about to do, and Ariana might have a hard time adjusting… I _am_ leaving them behind, and many people would condemn me for this act alone. And yet… I have trust in our future. Together, the three of us can make everything work out." He paused before smiling reminiscently. "You know, Gellert has been so kind to my sister."

"I know," Dieter replied rather miserably. "Zat eez ze danger. 'E can be so… vell, nice. 'E really vants to 'elp your sister, zough. Ve haff baked ze cake too. 'E told me eet eez for 'er. A Blackforest cake, by ze way—eet eez from 'is region. I do vant to believe zere eez zome good in Gellert ztill. But zen I remember 'ow easily 'e just valked away from me to join ze ozers, or 'ow 'e never apologised for ruining my diploma, or 'ow he 'eld me at vandpoint. And yet, iff I said I didn't enjoy zis summer, eet would be a lie. I don't vant to leave either of you; zat eez vhy I am still here—just so zere vould be at least someone who eez not soft in ze head. Gellert eez a lost case zere, you haff to admit. And you… you vorry me. Honestly, I zometimes vonder eef Gellert's madness eez contagious and eef I am ze only person in ze whole vorld who eez not affected by eet."

He shook his head again, sighing, but then a grin made its way to his face.

"Vell, zat vos my last attempt, I swear. Iff you are certain… like I zaid, I am glad you are coming wiz us."

The relationship between Albus and Gellert and its ambiguity aside, they were now very good friends; it went without saying.

Changing the subject, Dieter filled Albus in on the dinner to come: Madam Bagshot appeared to be planning a bigger event than expected in honour of her German guests, both of whom would be leaving in a matter of days. The Potters had been invited as well. 

After their conversation, the young wizards did not have to part for long. Evening was upon them sooner than expected, and Albus exited his house in some preoccupation.

Bathilda Bagshot was known to be fond of fancy dinners and parties, but this time, one could tell she had outdone herself. Her parlour was crisp and gleaming, decorated with potted plants and tall cut flowers. Her best family china had been taken out of a secret cupboard and completed with lacy napkins. Even her hair had been carefully arranged and pinned with an ivory comb, and she sported a set of pearl jewellery.

"You are positively radiant tonight, Madam Bagshot," Albus remarked upon his arrival, and she chuckled with a hint of flirtatiousness that nearly astounded him.

"Thank you, my dear boy. Do come in. I hope you don't mind that I've decided to enlarge my guestlist tonight; duty comes in many shapes and forms, you know."

He nodded his understanding and proceeded into the sitting room, where everyone else had already gathered. Gellert and Dieter were dressed in their dinner attires, as were the Potters. Euphrosyne looked dainty and elegant while Mr Potter smiled, appearing quite cheerful.

"Albus, it's a pleasure to see you," he said, shaking the younger wizard's hand.

Albus returned the greeting and kissed Mrs Potter's hand before approaching his friends.

"Hello," he said to them both, his eyes becoming a little nervous when they focused on Gellert. "Is everything all right?"

Gellert nodded. "I am happy to see you, Albus. I am sorry Ariana couldn't join us. I did try suggesting it, but Auntie decided to host a larger party."

The last sentence was uttered in a much quieter voice. He seemed at ease, though, or at least he came across that way. It helped Albus relax; he loved seeing Gellert smile.

"Thank you. I'm happy to see you too." Unable to hold himself in check any longer, he withdrew the two packages he had purchased. "There is something I meant to give you. It's nothing much, just small magical tokens."

It took the boys seconds to unpack their presents: the hand-painted box and the shimmering hourglass.

Gellert seemed impressed by Albus's choice.

"It is very thoughtful of you, Albus," he said. "Thank you. The world map is a perfect touch. And I have something for you too—well, rather for Ariana. Dieter must have already spoiled the surprise."

"I'm zorry." The other boy smiled sheepishly; he had, indeed, already informed Albus of Gellert's painting enterprise earlier that day. "Zank you for ze gift."

"Ah, exchanging parting gifts already, boys?" Bathilda's voice carried over. "Come now, there are still a few days left, and we have a dinner ahead of us."

"Albus got me a treasure box, Auntie. It's enchanted, so no one else can take my possessions."

The witch understood the jab immediately. "Oh, you cheeky boy. Where do you come up with these retorts? Better come over and help me with this."

Turning aside, Albus spotted what he had missed earlier. A long, wooden box that he recognised as a camera stood on a tripod in one of the corners of the room. It was as heavy as the Muggle cameras he had seen on pictures, though it seemed to have no shutter or curtain. At her injunction, both Gellert and Mr Potter advanced to assist her at setting it up while the others watched. Cameras were a rare possession to have.

"I have rented it out for tonight from Mr Higgins," Madam Bagshot clarified. "Let us see if it's as efficient as he boasted."

After a moment of handling, the enchanted device was finally ready to be used, and it was Albus that was called forward to test it first.

"Go on, my boy," Madam Bagshot directed while Mr Potter positioned himself behind the camera in guise of an assistant. "Gellert, join him over there. A little to the left. No, don't stand in front of that painting! Yes, stay right there."

Albus smiled timidly, feeling somewhat exposed but pleased to have Gellert by his side. If this worked, they would have a picture together. A picture of the two of them on that most special of summers. Mr Potter gave the camera a series of taps with his wand, and with a loud noise, it puffed greenish smoke. Euphrosyne clapped; it appeared to have worked. The boys retreated, but the experiment was not over. Bathilda insisted on taking shots of the Potter couple and of herself as well. Only Dieter was purposely left out. As far as history was concerned, his existence was not to be recorded; Madam Bagshot had made sure of that.

It took a few moments before they went to table, leaving the camera covered with fabric and no longer emitting smoke. Albus noticed that while their hostess had been anxious to follow the protocol in every other regard, she had not quite upheld it in the seating order, choosing to have the Potters on either side of her, presumably to be able to monopolise them. Mr Potter had Dieter on his other side, and Albus found himself placed between his friends, though if anything, the arrangement made him happy. With the first course came the first topic of conversation: little Charlus Potter's success on his toy broom and his first signs of magic.

Once her husband finished his enthusiastic account of their latest flying lesson, Euphrosyne claimed attention, turning towards Albus.

"I believe we have a small announcement to make. After you spoke to me, Albus, Silas and I agreed to take care of dear Ariana while you and your brother are away. We understand how difficult it is to establish your position, and we will be happy to do everything we can to help."

There were sounds of admiration at the table, and Albus thanked her as best he could, moved by the couple's kindness.

"Euphrosyne, my dear," Bathilda cut in, "this is absolutely admirable, but sadly, our sweet Ariana is an Obscurial. Now, Albus, we all love that poor dear, but Euphrosyne, you have a small child. Is it safe?"

Albus nearly choked on his claret, but thankfully, the sound was covered by Mr Potter's words:

"We are aware of everything, dear Madam Bagshot, and we feel this is an additional reason to help. It may come as a pleasure to Ariana to change her surroundings and make new friends. The young lady deserves it."

Madam Bagshot placed a hand on her chest in a display of lady-like emotion.

"Oh, bless you—goodness, there should be more wizards like you. Why, my own beloved nephew—dear Gellert's late father, Edgar—was one of those blessed souls. What did he use to say? Ah, yes: a little good will bring about an even greater good. A toast to that!"

Everyone raised their glasses and took a sip. Albus still felt a little shaken, not the least at the way Bathilda had changed her tune. The detail about Gellert's father had caught his attention, though. He had always liked the name Edgar, and he liked the motto too.

Gellert had joined in the toast, his features unruffled, but Albus could sense he was uncomfortable. A few seconds later, he understood exactly why. Madam Bagshot had been drinking a little too much that evening, and it did not bring out her best traits. Once the subject of Gellert's parents had been touched upon, there was no stopping her.

"Of course, poor Edgar is no longer with us—bless his soul, may he find peace," she gushed regretfully. "His overly kind nature got him arrested, you see. He died in prison. It's all very sad."

"Auntie," Gellert started, an edge perceptible in his voice.

"But oh, Gellert here was such a beautiful child. I visited you, my boy; of course, you were too young to remember it. Your mother hardly left her bed, so frail she was. Dear Edgar did wish for more children, but she couldn't give him more; that she had managed even one was a small miracle in itself. As a woman, you can imagine the pain, Euphrosyne, dear. I felt for the poor thing, I really did, but she didn't even have the strength to pay little Gellert any mind, let alone think of having more children—dear Edgar would oversee everything from the very start. Changing linen, feeding the child, teaching him magic later on… awful, awful. I had known, of course, it would be like that, but who listens to wise advice before it's too late? Dear Leofflæd—Gellert's mother—was born to an elderly couple, you see. Evil tongues even claimed some magic had been involved in her conception. A frail thing she was too, both in body and spirit—a near-Squib, if anything. But my Edgar loved her oh-so-much; he couldn't bring himself to mind all the additional chores. On her part, poor Leofflæd grew so comfortable that she couldn't live on without him. She took her own life when dear Edgar was arrested. Highly irresponsible, of course. It was none other than poor Gellert himself who discovered her when coming home for summer from that school of his… Yes, she was hanging by the rope around her neck. Poor dear. Gellert has been getting in trouble ever since… And _that_ is why blood matters, Euphrosyne, dear—your precious son deserves the closest attention when the time comes to choose him a wife. A lousy spouse will not only wreck a household but will also drive the final nail in an entire bloodline's coffin."

Once the witch finished her tirade, the table was completely still. Dieter, it seemed, had frozen on the spot, carefully observing Gellert, his fork in mid-air. Gellert, however, took his aunt's speech with enviable stoicism.

"Could we please talk about something else, Auntie?" His throat was dry, but his demeanour remained perfectly polite. "I'm afraid we are making Mr and Mrs Potter uncomfortable."

Albus's face burned. He could feel the magic in his limbs expanding with his temper, and he forcefully restrained it. When he lifted his knife, though, he saw it was bent out of shape, rendered unusable. He put it back on the table, struggling to calm his breathing.

"Are you trying to hide the fact that you are trouble, my boy?" Bathilda retorted, as if amused at Gellert's plea for a change of topic. "No, no, I am fully aware of everything. Imagine, Euphrosyne, he ran off shortly after dear Leofflæd's demise—everybody looked for him for weeks—not to mention he later consorted with half-breeds at that school of his. Oh, and the fights, sweet Merlin! They assigned him a counsellor! Now, you have to understand, Euphrosyne, dear: this awful school of his is greedier than any Goblin at Gringotts. They pride themselves on being the _best_ school—only those who are ready to throw countless bags of Galleons at them get a chance to attend—except for Muggle-borns: terrible double standards there. But for all that extravagance, they do assign wizards and witches to help… ah, how do they put it… yes, the _troubled_ students. But what an embarrassment to think that dear Gellert here was classified as such! Dear Edgar's own son! Terrible. This all comes from misbehaviour, young man! Thank Merlin Mr Cynefriđsson is a nice, sensible wizard who could turn you back towards the path of academia, my boy. Oh, Euphrosyne, Gellert is so wickedly talented. In fact, Mr Cynefriđsson—"

"Found a living arrangement for me while I was still underage," Gellert intervened, his voice now betraying some of his anger. "Speaking of which, why didn't you take me in when you were offered custody, Auntie?"

"Now, Gellert!" Madam Bagshot shot out, incensed. "Mind your tone—we have guests."

"Indeed we do," he returned, standing his ground. "So please, Auntie, do not forget that."

"Gellert!" she shrieked. "Sit down at once! What is this? Merlin's beard, good thing Mr Cynefriđsson is coming to talk some sense into you."

This claimed Gellert's attention at once.

"What do you mean, Auntie? Has Mr Cynefriđsson contacted you?"

"Well, of course he has; he is worried about your future, my boy. You never attended the last career advice session, did you now? There seems to be a complication with your diploma; you left school early, I am told, so he is coming down here himself. Perhaps all the Galleons my dear Edgar has poured into that establishment were a good investment after all, although I am still disappointed in them for admitting half-breeds. Can you imagine, Euphrosyne dear, they have _Veelas_ in there studying side by side with human witches and wizards? And even half-Goblins, or so I've heard… Absolutely scandalous."

Gellert was no longer listening. Dieter had lowered his fork, his face drained of colour. He watched his friend, who, remarkably, had regained his composure as if his aunt had never humiliated him. In fact, it appeared as though his angry energy were already slowly dissipating.

At this point, Mr Potter had clearly had enough of the squabble. Diverting Madam Bagshot's attention, he cut in, "Speaking of Goblins, I have heard the most remarkable piece of news. Did you know Gringotts is about to change its policy on the matter of vault fusions?"

Albus was grateful for his intervention. His appetite gone, he sat back, glancing at Gellert's composed profile. They were coming for him. The three of them needed to leave soon.

While her husband spoke, Mrs Potter looked over at the boys and was startled by their pallor. Fortunately, she ascribed their state to the argument that had just taken place.

"Water?" she offered, passing the jug in their direction.

"Thank you, Mrs Potter."

Albus gave it a tap with his wand so that it would pour some water into everyone's glasses. Under the table, his hand found Gellert's cold one. For a second, he felt as though the blond wizard were about to yank his hand away, but when he saw Albus had been the one to seek him out, he relaxed.

"I tried to bake the cake, as promised," he said quietly. "I'm not sure if it is good; it's the first time I've baked anything..."

"I 'elped," Dieter said. "We 'ad to hide it zo zat Madam Bagshot vouldn't take it."

"It will be excellent," Albus smiled, gently pressing Gellert's hand. "Thank you, truly, both of you."

Gellert went on, "I was hoping to come later. To your place."

"Ari will be happy to see you." Albus lowered his voice to a whisper. "Fear nothing. They will get to you over my dead body."

"It will not come to that," the blond wizard whispered back, strangely confident.

An hour later, it was finally over. Even the Potters' presence had not been entirely sufficient to soothe the rampant tension at the dinner table; for once, however, Albus was grateful they had been invited in Ariana's stead. He did not want to even imagine what would have happened if Bathilda had unleashed her judgmental persona onto his frail sister.

He bid the witch goodbye civilly enough, thanked the Potters and wished Dieter a good night. They did not need to comment on the news, for their eyes spoke volumes. Albus and Gellert were then free to set out.

"I'm so sorry about it—about all of it," Albus said as soon as the door closed behind them. "I understand what the news means. Can we... could we perhaps meet tomorrow? If you want to act fast, I will do the same."

"It's all right, I've taken care of the arrangements. They were bound to locate me sooner or later. Let us not worry about it tonight. I should have expected something like this from Auntie; we started our morning with an argument, and this was her retaliation. You told Ariana I was coming, didn't you?"

"No, not yet. Let me call her downstairs."

Taking out his wand, Albus conjured a luminous butterfly and sent it fluttering towards one of the windows of his house. Ariana must have grown used to this, for a moment later, the front door swung open, and she peeked out, only to squeal happily at the sight of them.

"Ari, wait—" Aberforth's voice called behind her.

Coming out at her heels, the boy saw Albus was not alone. Ariana was running towards the garden gate to hug her brother before happily greeting the _bastard_ who had taken residence at Madam Bagshot's house. Aberforth had been too late to stop any of it. He could see his sister was beside herself with excitement, curious to see what present Gellert had brought her this time, and the entire display infuriated him more than words could express. Nevertheless, he did not dare raise his voice: it would upset Ariana for sure. Besides, Albus appeared to be inexplicably angry, more so than he had seen him in recent years.

To Aberforth's surprise, Gellert was the first one to address him.

"I have come to bid Ariana goodbye. I will be leaving soon."

This, combined with Albus's visible fury, did—miraculously—have an impact.

"You are leaving?" the younger Dumbledore brother echoed, barely daring to believe what he had heard.

"But why?" This time, the question had come from Ariana.

"I have to go home, Ari," Gellert answered. "But I didn't want to leave without a goodbye dinner."

"But—but… I thought you were staying," the girl said pleadingly. "Albus never invites any friends."

"I will write to you if you like," Gellert assured her. "Have you already tried sketching something?"

"No, I've lost your presents," Ariana lamented. "I've looked everywhere..."

At this piece of information, Gellert gave Aberforth a suspicious look, tilting his head to a side. He, too, appeared to exude angry aura, for Albus's little brother looked positively nailed to his spot.

"It is all right," the blond wizard said at last, "I've brought you something else. Albus, should I open it inside?"

"Let's go to the kitchen," Albus nodded, ushering both him and Ariana towards the front door. 

When passing his brother, he made certain to come close enough so that Aberforth could feel the magic crackling around him.

"Give her everything back," he hissed, loudly enough only for the boy's ears, before following the other two in.

Gellert had already effortlessly reverted to his usual charming persona, if only for Ariana's sake.

"What did you bring?" she asked, excited.

"A painting of my school, as promised. You were curious, weren't you?"

Placing the cake on the table, he revealed the result of his almost two days of work.

One could tell that magic had been applied to it. Even without it, however, the picture was remarkable. Gellert possessed undeniable talent for art.

The snowy mountains were abrupt, almost like the cliffs in Northern Ireland, and yet they looked remarkably different. The lake beneath them was the bluest among blue tones: there was no greenish hue to it, the kind of which could be found in the warm Southern waters—no, it was pure, icy blue of a marvellous shade. Despite the cold oozing from the painting, there was something indescribably inviting about it. And the most remarkable thing about it was the fact that it had been drawn from the perspective of someone looking out of a vast hall.

Ariana contemplated this extraordinary sight with an expression of awe.

"Will you take me there, Albus? I know I can't go alone, but what if Abe comes with us?"

Gellert came to Albus's aid before the latter could find the right words.

"Wizarding schools are very secretive," he said gently. "Not everybody is allowed to come. First, we would need to ask them for permission."

"I know," Ariana sighed. "It's just that I am never allowed to go anywhere. Mama said I couldn't go to Albus and Aberforth's school either..."

The thought saddened her, but before she could linger on her loneliness any further, Geller claimed her attention once again. Within minutes, the girl became chattier than ever. At Albus's request, Quaffy served them tea with large slices of Gellert's cake, and the atmosphere could not be merrier, Aberforth being the only one who abstained from joining in.

Even though it was getting late, Ariana did not appear to be even remotely sleepy. In fact, Albus noticed she had discreetly managed to fetch her crayons and some parchment and was presently looking at Gellert in an expectant manner.

"Could you... draw another picture?"

"Another?" he laughed. "What this time?"

"Um..." She thought about it. "What is it like where you live? You said you were from far away."

With a smile, he started telling her of his childhood home in Bavaria. The girl listened breathlessly, and so did Albus, both of them watching his hand move over the parchment. His home stood at the very edge of the Black Forest, he said, a little way from the Muggle village it overlooked. As the crayon glided over the blank sheet in precise geometric lines, they saw the contours of a timber-framed house emerge: large and cosy, it had two storeys and a chimney. Its shape, a little irregular in a most charming way, served as a tell-tale sign that magic permeated the dwelling. It was subtle—too subtle for Muggles to notice but clear to someone who was accustomed to recognising such patterns.

A hedge made of stone, typical for the wealthier country houses, delimited the spacious garden, providing a reference that revealed just how tall the building was. Unlike many older houses, it clearly had high ceilings, which made it a little similar to the Potters' cottage.

Pausing in his endeavour, Gellert glanced at Ariana.

"Should we add some colour?"

Over the table, Albus heard his brother draw a breath, tensing. Ariana, however, did not hesitate before nodding. She appeared to trust Gellert implicitly, just as Albus did himself.

The crayons were lifted from the table using a levitation charm and after muttering a few incantations, the blond wizard started colouring his sketch. The striped design of the house—a Fachwerkhaus, he had called it—came into focus: brown lines ran along the white façade and the many windows. It could be safely assumed the dwelling was very light inside, what with its tall ceilings and the sunshine streaming through the large glass panes. Albus could just imagine the beautiful witch from Gellert's pocket portrait arranging flowers in a parlour, her golden hair shining and her delicate features lit with a smile.

More colour followed. Green, an entire expanse of green with specks of brown and yellow and even orange. There was a thick impenetrable forest, indeed, right next to the house's enclosure. Leaning closer, Albus studied it with a mounting feeling of intrigue. Unless he was very much mistaken, that forest was magical, not unlike the Dark Forest near Hogwarts. The very shape of the trees, the thickness of their crowns and their different shades were an indicator.

His eyes met Gellert's with a mute question. He received a nod in return.

Meanwhile, Ariana studied the picture thoughtfully.

"It's a beautiful house," she breathed. "Do you ever see animals coming out of the forest?"

The conversation continued in just as enjoyable a manner, and by the time it became too late for Gellert to stay any longer, the girl was clutching more sketches: one of an imposing couple of deer standing at the edge of the forest, one of a handsome parlour, which was as bright and tasteful as Albus had imagined, and one of the Muggle village that could be seen from the window of Gellert's home. Most of the cake had been eaten; only a few cherries and chocolate shards remained. As for the painting, it now hung in the sitting room, secured by Albus with a complicated spell that he knew his brother could not undo if he tried. It was time for Gellert to say goodbye to Ariana for good, and though she was sad to do so, her usually pale features were more vivacious than Albus could remember them in a long time. It occurred to him how well-loved she would have been at Hogwarts, pretty and kind-hearted as she was, if only circumstances had allowed her to attend.

With a final hug and advice that she should practice using her enchanted graphite-tipped pen once it was found, Gellert offered her his best wishes, and Albus proceeded to escort him into the darkness of the garden. He was hoping to confirm where and when they would be able to meet next, but Aberforth's footsteps rang out right behind him, and he knew they had to wait.

Gellert turned around, assessing Albus's little brother.

"Keep walking," the latter growled.

His wand was half-raised and aimed at Gellert's back. The blond wizard complied.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you come out to say goodbye to me as well," he commented dryly.

One glance upwards showed him Ariana peeking out of her window. He waved at her one more time, making it clear to Albus that his brother wanted them out of the girl's line of vision.

"Aberforth, I'll be happy to disarm and hex you for good measure if you don't calm down now," the older Dumbledore said, his voice dead serious.

"Don't meddle, Albus," the boy growled.

At last, they had walked far enough to find themselves under the cover of a tree. Ariana could no longer see them clearly enough to understand the dynamics of the situation. Slowly, Gellert turned around, only to see that Aberforth was pointing his wand directly at his heart. He raised an eyebrow.

"You said it was the last time you would set foot into our house," the younger boy reminded him. "Make sure it really _is_ the last time."

Outraged, Albus forced himself in front of Gellert, but he had underestimated his brother's fury. A mere second later, he was blasted aside.

"I SAID, DON'T MEDDLE!" Aberforth yelled.

It was enough for Gellert. Quick as a lightning, he lunged at the younger boy, who was both shorter and somewhat weaker despite his daily hard labour. In a wrestling match against the German wizard, he had no hope of winning.

"You are really starting to annoy me" Gellert hissed at him. "And trust me, things did not end well for the last person who annoyed me."

He was holding Aberforth in a vice-like grip, twisting his arms behind his back. The boy's wand fell to the ground as he hissed in pain, and it rolled right in front of Albus, who, by that time, had picked himself off the grass. Albus took it. His eyes had widened at the way the situation had escalated, but he did not intervene.

"Let me go," Aberforth growled, though it was becoming increasingly more difficult to sound menacing whilst in pain.

"Oh, I will let you go. But first, you will apologise to your brother, understood?"

Growling again, the younger wizard tried to break free, but all it brought him was more pain.

" _Understood?_ "

"It's all right, Gellert," Albus said quietly. "But Aberforth, let me be clear: I will not tolerate any violence towards Gellert. You will not raise your wand against him any more."

Gellert released the younger Dumbledore brother. The latter could not quite suppress a whimper of pain. Suddenly, his tough demeanour gave way to reveal a small, frightened boy.

"Don't you see what he's like, Albus?" he asked pleadingly. "Let's go home, please. Say goodbye if you must, but let's go. Let him leave."

Albus wanted to close his eyes. What he had just witnessed was painful beyond words. So was seeing the scared child who had been buried behind Aberforth's aggressive stance many years ago. But it did not hurt him any less to see a wand pointed at Gellert's chest.

"Go inside the house," he said in a calm, non-threatening voice.

Aberforth grabbed his shoulder. He was trembling from both fear and pain.

"If you won't protect us from him, I will." He meant it; his fierce gaze showed as much. "And you"—he shouted at Gellert with as much bravado as he could muster—"YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: STAY AWAY FROM US!"

With that, he hurried into the house. Albus glanced after him and then back at the blond wizard.

"Oh, Gellert, I don't know why... I don't know where I went wrong. I'm so sorry. Please, forgive him. I'm sure that in time, he will forgive us too. He is only a child now, but when he goes back to Hogwarts and loses some of his responsibility—when he gets to live a little—he will understand."

"It seems that I have given him quite a fright." Gellert sighed. "I'm sorry about that. He is right, though, in a sense: I am no good. You know that."

"You are the love of my life." The other wizard's tone was as calm and confident as if he were citing a well-known statement.

"Albus, I know you promised to come with me, but you have seen your brother: he is terrified of me. You also know what I am running from. These facts combined should be a very good reason for you to stay."

"He will be happier at Hogwarts." Albus came closer, his gaze earnest. "He will come to understand. And Ariana will be healthier and happier with the Potters. She is wasting away in her life of solitude. I, on the other hand, want to come with you. To help you, to be with you. I love you, Gellert."

"Albus, just think about it," Gellert insisted. "There are still a few days left to consider it."

He briefly squeezed Albus's hand before turning wordlessly and walking towards Madam Bagshot's house.

Albus watched his figure retreat. With a heavy sigh, he made his own way home. He was shaken, deeply so, and aware of the numerous challenges ahead, but his mind had not changed. He had meant every word he had said.

Ariana's room was lit with candles, which was a good sign: should Aberforth be waiting for him downstairs to talk, they could simply resort to the Soundproof Charm. What he did not expect was to see his brother peer from behind the curtain when he entered. He was massaging his bruised wrists.

"Will he be gone now? Truly?"

While the boy had regained some of his composure, his voice still held a trace of the whimper he had let out earlier. It was only now that it occurred to Albus how much difference a tone made. Without constant growling and insults, his brother came across as remarkably juvenile.

"He will be gone in a couple of days," he replied, his own words gentler than usual. "Show me your wrists."

Aberforth hesitated. He was not used to accepting Albus's help, and the very idea hurt his pride. Eventually, however, he approached his older brother, his face frozen in a grimace. It did not take a Legilimens to understand that trying to be civil to Albus was something so alien to him at this point that Aberforth legitimately felt as though he had been Transfigured into a goat and forced to interact with humans in such a form.

Gellert, it appeared, had caused enough damage. Not enough to truly break the boy's wrists, but enough to understand that the whimpers had been justified.

One by one, Albus traced the bruises with his wand, an incantation on his lips. The flesh slowly returned to its natural colour. He handed Aberforth his wand and went to sit in an armchair. For a few seconds, silence was absolute.

The younger boy had not moved. He had not even thanked Albus; not that the latter had expected it.

"You know, Ari kept those stupid sketches," he commented instead while his brother sat lost in contemplation. "I can't believe you allowed it. You know what it means."

Albus turned distant eyes at him. "Why shouldn't she keep them?"

"Don't." Some of Aberforth's anger was coming back to the surface. "He comes here because you invite him. She sees him, and he pretends to be all nice… She keeps the sketches under her pillow, you know, and she always looks out of the window towards the hag's house."

"This is probably the first time in her life that she has felt like a girl her age," Albus said quietly, thinking of his frail, innocent sister, so caring despite her unfulfilling life. "Don't spoil it for her. After all, she won't see him again. She's not a hermit, Aberforth. She's a breathing witch."

"Have you lost your mind?!" came a predictable retort. "He's a monster! He can't be anywhere near Ari!"

All Albus could do was run a tired hand over his eyes. First Dieter, then Madam Bagshot, and now his brother. Gellert could catch no respite from his critics.

"Aberforth, for the love of Merlin... he told you he was leaving. Let it go already."

"Why do you even like him? Why do you defend him all the time?"

There was a brief pause, the space of a few heartbeats. It was not true hesitation, though. That night held no room for lies.

"I love him," Albus confessed, never breaking eye contact. "And he deserves every ounce of love."

To say that his brother's face morphed into a mask of utter disgust would have been an understatement.

"L-love?" the boy croaked, horrified. "W-what do you mean, Albus?!"

"We might as well stop walking in circles," the older wizard sighed. "You know what it means. That's who I am. I didn't ask to be this way, but I am. And I consider myself fortunate to have found true love."

"That's… disgusting," Aberforth let out, revolted. "All this time, I still hoped you… you—"

He drew in a breath, starting to shake. When he addressed Albus again, his aggressiveness was returning in full measure, hiding the scared boy beneath it.

"You are so pathetic! Don't you see how he's playing you?"

Albus eyed him, his gaze distant, indolent.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"I meant what I said," his brother said threateningly, though there was now a sobbing quality to his voice, as if he were holding back even more emotions. "If I see him around here again, I will make him regret it. He will _not_ take you or Ari away; he will leave. He will go back to Germany, where he came from, and we will go on living just like before. All three of us."

With this, Aberforth stormed upstairs, unable to bear the sight of his brother for another second and wishing he could un-hear what he had just heard. It was not that he had never suspected this much, but knowing it for a fact made a difference, and it disturbed him to the highest degree. Even worse than everything else was the fact that _both_ his siblings had fallen for that despicable individual. Gellert Grindelwald was the most loathsome wizard Aberforth had ever encountered, and he wished the scoundrel had never arrived to their village. For even though he was to leave in a matter of days, nothing would ever be the same again.

 

 **AN:** all right, the end is near, and it has come abruptly, just as it always does. Now, you might have noticed that the theme of supremacy is very prominent in the chapter (poor Gellert got quite roasted there). My point here is that years later, when Tom was campaigning, he strongly capitalised on the prejudice already existing in the society. He didn't invent anything new. Gellert, on the other hand, might have quite different goals; who knows. He is a lot more complicated person than Tom.

We hope you have enjoyed this chapter and will let us know what you think!


	17. XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

The early morning found Albus seated on the veranda, his mind preoccupied with the mountain of correspondence and expense statements that required handling before his departure. Apart from sorting through what little remained in the Dumbledore vault at Gringotts, it was necessary to agree on the final details of Ariana's impending stay with the Potters, ensure Aberforth's school attendance and transfer to King's Cross—if everything went as planned, the Abbotts would be taking him to the station along with their daughter, Ada Catherine—and alert his friends and acquaintances he would be absent from the house for a while and that until further notice, they ought to abstain from sending him owls. People always thought of packing when journeys came to mind, but in truth, packing appeared to be the easiest part of travelling.

He did not complain of the task, though: it allowed him to aim his thoughts in a useful direction. His conversation with Aberforth from the night before had cut him more deeply than he could have imagined. There was hurt at his brother's unveiled disgust and unwillingness to consider his feelings; there was guilt as well, for the younger boy was unhappy and frightened and lost, and he, Albus, was keeping his departure a secret until the very last minute. The plain fact was that he was afraid of seeing his endeavour sabotaged—his brother was more than capable of thwarting him, and he _would_ attempt to do so if he were to find out too soon. For if there was one thing Albus was certain of, it was the fact that he belonged with Gellert. Opposing his fate would result in regrets, every moment of every day.

While he sealed one of his letters, he heard the front door of Madam Bagshot's house snap shut and glanced up. It was Dieter, dressed in travelling clothes and holding a suitcase. He waved at Albus the moment he spotted him and came closer. The English wizard did the same, alarmed by the unexpected sight and what it implied.

"You are not leaving already, are you?" he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

Dieter gave him a sad smile.

"I am. You von't believe eet, but I zink I don't vant to, which eez… vell, suprising, zeing 'ow I never vanted to come in ze first place." He paused. "Gellert told me vot 'appened last night. 'Ow are you 'olding up, Albus?"

"I'm all right," Albus assured him, though it was not entirely true. It distressed him to see one of his two closest friends leave the village for good. Everything was evolving so quickly. "Why are you going early? Has there been more news? Is Gellert worried wizards will be coming for him any day now?"

"Ve talked a lot last night," Dieter admitted. "I didn't even know about 'is mother— 'e ztopped writing to me zat summer. It 'appened only a year after my own parents died of Dragon pox." He heaved a sigh. "Ve decided zat eet eez better iff I am not in ze way. Even eef ze duelling practice vos obligatory, I am not a good fighter, and I might be a liability eef zey arrive unexpectedly. But you ztill 'ave a choice. Gellert zinks zey will operate quietly, not making a fuss; zey razer vant to apprehend 'im for torture, no casualties. I am just leaving because I very obviously stand out, and zey might know vhat I look like."

Albus drew a shuddering breath as those words sank in. His hand twitched, as if itching to close around his wand, but he stopped himself. No kidnapper was coming near Madam Bagshot's house while he was near.

"Where will you be going?" he asked instead. "Is it Germany?"

"Gellert vill tell you eef you decide to come after all," Dieter replied before reaching into his pocket. "Zis eez for you."

It was a piece of parchment that bore only the following words: _Leaky Cauldron, two o'clock._

"Thank you, Dieter," Albus whispered, taking the note to slip it in his pocket. "This is not a goodbye. I _have_ decided to come with the two of you. I'm currently putting my affairs in order." He forced his breathing to slow down, focusing on Dieter's expression. "Did he... apologise in the end?"

"No, but… I haff been zinking. I zink you haff right," the blond wizard admitted. "I know 'ow eet zounds: just yesterday morning, I vos trying to make you see 'ow dangerous zese ideas of his vere, but now I zink I understand. Vot I vitnessed yesterday vos… eet made me understand zomething. You both haff suffered due to being subjected to ze zide effects of vizarding secrecy. In your case, eet eez vot 'appened to your zister, and in 'is case, I don't know for sure, but I can guess."

He pondered his next words.

"I haff not changed my opinion, but I understand vhy eet eez important to do zomething before eet eez too late. Eet vill only get vorse. Zere are signs of radical mood in all magical communities, and eet eez only a matter of time before someone rallies ze influential purebloods and starts a conflict of such a scale zat everyone vill get 'urt. I zink I vos afraid zat Gellert might be zis vizard; it vould make sense. But last night, vhen we talked, 'e zaid it eez ze system 'e vants to zee changed. And ze idea _eez_ a good one; I am just afraid eet vill get out of hand."

Having expressed his concern, Dieter looked Albus in the eye.

"I can't believe I am zaying zis, but please, come wiz us. Gellert's ideas _are_ valid, I zee eet now, but zey are also highly dangerous, and 'e will make many enemies. And I _know_ Gellert—even better zan you do, perhaps—I know zat Gellert's greatest enemy eez 'imself. 'E never liztens to me, but maybe he vill lizten to ze two off us combined. After all, we haff succeeded in talking 'im out of one madness at least."

There was something so solemn about this instant that Albus felt himself grow calm despite the panic in his chest. Dieter was now fully on Gellert's side. He had chosen to put faith into his old friend's ideas, though he remained alert and aware of the dangers they faced. He had also accepted him, Albus, as a part of their group. They had become true friends much earlier, but now, their interests were fully aligned, and they agreed on everything that mattered. It felt like a sacred moment, and the English wizard was deeply moved.

"I am coming with the two of you."

He had never offered a more serious promise. And as Dieter smiled in response, his own composure relaxed a little in a wave of relief.

"Which means I will see you in only a couple of days. This time next year, we will be conversing in German."

"And about zomething ozer zan Gellert," the blond boy laughed. "Do you play any sports? I'm not particularly good at anyzing really, but why not—zere are a few Muggle options I like."

"Gladly," Albus grinned. "I've never really practiced any sport, but why not indeed? I wouldn't say no to learning to sing either."

Now that most of his tension had been dispelled, he felt emotion well inside him. Though he was going to see Dieter in only two days, this very departure signified that something was coming to an end. Their magical summer was at its close. Overcome with this realisation, he opened his arms, and Dieter gave him a warm, solid hug.

"Have a safe journey," Albus said. "You will be Apparating, won't you?"

"Yes. I vill zee you zoon."

The embrace only lasted for a few seconds, but it was one of true friendship.

"Very soon."

With one last smile and a handshake, Dieter turned and walked away towards the Apparition point. Albus watched him, brimming with fondness. He glanced at Madam Bagshot's house to see whether she was observing as well, but she had not so much as peeked out to wave her guest goodbye. Aberforth, on the other hand, could be seen at the kitchen window. All Albus could give him was a cold look before he settled down to resume his correspondence.

At half past one, he was unable to wait any longer. He made his way through a particularly busy Charing Cross, pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron and was instantly transported from the bustling Muggle street into a purely wizarding environment. The old barman, Jim, waved at him, and Albus waved back, though his attention was on his surroundings. He spotted Gellert in a corner, leafing through newspapers under one faded lamp.

"Gellert," he smiled, "you are early too. Shall I get us a drink?"

"Albus." Gellert's voice betrayed some of his anxiety, even though he was visibly glad to see the English wizard. "How is Aberforth feeling today?"

"He is fine," Albus assured him, sitting down. "Truly, Gellert. Do not worry."

His companion sighed. "Well, it is too early for tea and not nearly late enough for a strong drink. I'm sorry about yesterday; it got out of hand."

"Gellert," the other wizard objected in a serious yet gentle tone, "you have been more than patient with him, and he crossed the line. He is fine." He glanced up at the barman, who was eyeing them curiously, as if wondering why they were not ordering yet. "Cider or mead?"

"Cider," Gellert decided. "For you?"

"Same."

Albus stood up but was stopped almost at once.

"Let me. I will be right back."

A minute later, Gellert brought two glasses from the counter. They both took a sip, and with a word of thanks, Albus resumed.

"I saw Dieter this morning. He is already gone."

"Yes, I thought it would be better this way. I do believe he has enjoyed it here despite the circumstances of his arrival; still, he will be delighted to get away from Auntie." Gellert smiled. "The three of us have had good times."

" _Had_." Albus's smile was rather sad as he fingered his glass. "You still don't believe me when I say I'm coming with you?"

"Albus, about that: nothing would please me more. But what of your brother?"

"He will have to accept it." Albus contemplated the mellow liquid, and then his eyes rose to meet the blond wizard's gaze. "Before I met you, Gellert, my life... it was worth very little, really. I had my books and my trophies, and I thought it was all there was to the good side of life—all there was ever going to be. But then you came along, and I realised none of it truly mattered. No book is worth a loving look; no award can possibly outweigh one hair on your loved one's head. And that is how I feel about you. I would give my life to save you from any suffering. My place is by your side."

"Have you broken it to him yet?"

"I've told him how I feel. He... suspects my intentions but doesn't understand them. I therefore decided to take care of the arrangements and posted some letters. This way, nothing will hinder us when it's time." He bit his lip. "I may need your help, Gellert. He will not take kindly to our plan, but that is not my concern. It is Ari. If she becomes upset, she can cause any of us to be killed within seconds. It's... it's what happened to my mother." He sighed. "We need to stop him from upsetting Ari."

Gellert nodded grimly. "I will be there."

There was a brief silence before he went on.

"I know you've been meaning to talk to me about the Hallows: about why I changed my mind. Well, having successfully located two objects out of the three, I inevitably thought of the best way to get them for myself. With the Gaunts, it seemed easy enough—even taking your and Dieter's objections into account. But with the Potters... even easier."

He sat back, his deep blue eyes fixed on Albus in an uncharacteristically piercing manner.

"I could have devised a plan that would work out to perfection. I _did_ devise such a plan. All I had to do was establish my whereabouts at the time of the attack. I would tell Auntie I was going to Gringotts—nothing is less suspicious. In reality, I would have gone to the Potters' cottage. They are trusting people: they don't have so much as protection spells around their property. It would have been all too easy to enter the house, disarm Mr Potter and then incapacitate Mrs Potter. One Soundproof Charm around the room, and no one would hear them scream. It would perhaps take both Legilimency and torture, but I would succeed, and they _would_ tell me where the Cloak was being kept—that is likely in the cottage itself, or in their Gringotts vault, or perhaps in their London property. The point is, even if they didn't care about their own well-being, they would care about their little boy's. In the end, however, I would have to kill them. No Obliviate could possibly be strong enough to erase such an ordeal from their memories and allow them to continue acting in a natural manner. And for that purpose, what more convenient than an accident? A magical explosion: there are more than enough innocent reasons for such a thing to occur, especially with a small child in the house. The entire village would gather to help, and here I would come from my business, ready to assist them. No one would suspect I had anything to do with it: not Auntie, not you, Albus, and not even Dieter, who, out of you three, is best aware of what I am capable of. Maybe he would have doubts, but even he would not dare admit them to himself."

He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath. "As you can see, I had it planned out with utmost precision. So why didn't I go through with the plan, you may ask?" He let the pause stretch for the space of a few heartbeats. "I would have to live with the knowledge of what I had done. Of what I had become. And for what? Because I wanted to avoid getting killed. Three lives would pay for my safety... not three, in fact. Five: the Gaunts as well. For a while, I thought killing the Gaunts would be no loss to anyone—probably the opposite. And that was the greatest fallacy of all. Their degenerate nature and my own determination blinded me as to what I really was contemplating: an act of murder for gain, an evil act."

At some point during this speech, Albus had forgotten to breathe. His heart was hammering, but he neither interrupted nor tore his eyes away. He could sense this was a confession: the darkest, most intimate confession, perhaps, than Gellert had ever shared with anyone. And he would not injure Gellert's trust.

"I know you are not that kind of wizard," he said quietly. "I've always known it, Gellert. You may be a Dark wizard, but you are a better man than most Light wizards are. You are strong, you are brave, and there is so much good in you, so much desire to help the world and leave it in a better shape."

"Careful what you say, Albus," his companion replied bracingly. "What I want to accomplish will not come to be without sacrifice. Not to mention… As I've just confessed, I do not always sense the boundaries. What I want, however, is the wizarding law to be changed; I want to question the status quo; I want any Muggle who dares to attack a magical child to bear the consequences—in fact, I might even build my very own prison for such bastards. I told you once before: what happened to Ariana should not go unpunished; it should not be ignored the way it is ignored now. I want justice. I want wizards' right to self-defence against Muggles to be not merely respected but acknowledged by the authorities. But achieving any of this will be difficult. The Ministry is corrupt; all they do is Obliviate Muggle criminals and punish the wizards who dare to take the matter in their own hands. Wizards in power are my best bet: those of pure blood and with important connections. The desire to change the current system _is_ there on their side, except… we are talking about the kind of individuals who will want to have even more privileges than they already do without giving anything in return. For despite all their talk, there is also _fear_ present, you see. Many purebloods would rather capture some poor Muggle civilians and torture them to death, just to let off the steam—a temporary measure to dull the pain without curing the disease. I want to _cure_ the disease, Albus, but it will not come about without violence."

Albus listened closely, his brows furrowed in thought. What Gellert had said was true: powerful people—people who already possessed privileges and were hungry for more— _were_ his best bet at the moment. But they were not the only solution. Violence, on the other hand, could and would prove inevitable; uprooting one system to implant another was not going to be met with smooth and universal approval.

"I understand and agree," he assured the other wizard. "Yet even if those powerful purebloods become your first point of reference, they are not the only ones we should be recruiting in the long run. Your reforms are likely to prove most beneficial to those who have no ties to the Ministry; their support, if kindled carefully and on a large scale, might just surprise us with its efficiency. It is true that some violence cannot be avoided, and there will be sacrifices. I understand it, and I am ready to share the burden, Gellert."

"Are you?" Gellert asked softly. "You have never even been outside Godric's Hollow. Hogwarts is a far cry from Durmstrang. You have no idea what wizards are like outside your circle of academic correspondence. Even Dieter, who _should_ know better, does not. Did he tell you about his personal history?"

"About some of it. He mentioned the elitists of Durmstrang. There are such people at Hogwarts too; granted, I may never have been a part of their circle, but what I don't know, I will learn, Gellert. I am not afraid. And... maybe the acquaintances I have now might also come in handy one day."

"Since you may hear it anyway, I might as well tell you; I don't think Dieter would mind. He was to be home-schooled, you see, but quite unexpectedly, his family received some gold, and his parents decided to send him to Durmstrang. The gold had come from his maternal uncle: a hitwizard who used his nephew to hide some of his earnings."

Gellert never broke eye contact.

"I am telling you this because you need to understand that the world is not black and white. Anyone who happened to hear of Dieter's relation would immediately view him with prejudice, and yet, Dieter doesn't have it in him to hurt even a garden Gnome. Nothing is the way it seems, and nothing is easy. Sometimes, there is a choice to be made, and when it comes to making it, don't think it will all be sunshine and roses. Some of the choices might have terrible consequences, and yet, they are necessary for the greater good, for the benefit of all. Ideally, we all would like to avoid such predicament, but it is not always an option. You say you are not deterred by the fact that I am a Dark wizard, yet you and Dieter did your best to dissuade me from going after the Gaunts. I listened. I had a choice, and I made it. But whilst I decided not to stoop so low as to take other wizards' lives for my own gain, I cannot hide from what is coming either. When Ignat's brother comes for me, there will be bloodshed, Albus. I will have to kill him. Do you have it in you to let me do that?"

His features unruffled, Albus took Gellert's hand in his own. He had meant his words from the night before: _they will get to you over my dead body._

"When he comes for you, I will go and confront him by your side," he said calmly. "We will take him down together."

At this, Gellert's expression softened. "Remember the night when it rained? It was something of a turning point for me… Your sincerity was among the rarest displays of affection I'd ever witnessed. I often get complimented on my skills in manipulation, but it is nothing to be even called such: I merely pay attention to what people want. But you… you don't want anything; you merely wish to give. Why, Albus?"

The words deeply touched Albus. He smiled, his eyes glinting with emotion.

"I love you," he answered simply. "I love you not for what you can offer but for who you are. I would like for you to be happy, Gellert; that is my only wish."

"I will have enemies," the other wizard warned him. "Many of them. After Ignat's brother, there will be many others out for my blood. The very path I have taken makes any other outcome impossible. If you are anywhere near me, they will target you too. It would not be fair of me to let you come along unless you fully know what it entails to be with me and by my side."

"Tell me what it entails," Albus whispered, twining his fingers with Gellert's. "As far as enemies go, it is fortunate we both are skilled at wand work. You believe my words are genuine, don't you?"

"I do. You, however, don't have any solid reason to believe _me_. That is why I want to give you a choice. I propose a Wizard's Oath: I will share some very important memories with you, the memories that have shaped me, so that you would know where I come from and why I am what I am today—why I cannot entertain dreams of a peaceful life, as Dieter does. I will also show you my memories of the people I associate myself with, so that you'd know what you are getting involved into. If, after seeing all this, you still want to join me and share everything with me as my equal, then we will do so, and we will ensure that your family lacks for nothing. If you decide it is too heavy a burden and that you want to stay behind, you will have to let me erase the memories from your mind. Never worry, I am very good at mind magic, and your bright mind will not be affected in the slightest. And for my part, I shall hold no grudge against you, should you indeed decide to stay behind."

Albus gazed at him, knowing Gellert was being as serious as he had ever been in his life and that his gesture was one of affection and trust. Gellert _wanted_ him to come along—otherwise, he would have cut him off—but believed Albus deserved a choice—like, indeed, an equal.

"Let's do it," he acquiesced. "For my part, I trust you without an Oath. I know you would do nothing to harm me in any way."

Gellert's hand squeezed Albus's more firmly, though never hurting.

"We need to go somewhere private."

Their walk through Diagon Alley was quite unlike the one they had taken on their billiard night. That one had been carefree and full of the cheer that comes with budding friendship and feelings. This one was more sombre; and yet, they had never been more united than now that they strode purposefully through the crowd, their shoulders squared, their arms nearly touching.

When they reached Knockturn Alley, a feeling of familiarity was present in Albus's chest; he would never fear the street again or find it forbidding. Their club stood right there, but he did not think this was where they were headed. They were not after entertainment after all. His eyes stopped on the Acromantula's Lair, an inn just like the Leaky Cauldron, but one with an exclusively Dark clientele. He looked at Gellert to see if this was where he meant to go. The latter nodded.

They set out towards the strangely majestic building with its name engraved in letters that had been artistically decorated with spider motives. There were even more of those inside: fine webs tastefully arranged in the corners, gleaming red eyes peering from the dark nooks, and vault-like legs on numerous tables and chairs. Albus looked over at the drinking area, which was plunged in semi-gloom. Around a dozen wizards were seated there despite the early hour. They stared back at him, their expressions appearing to assess him and his companion. Most of them were dressed in middle and upper class fashion. His face blank, Albus turned back towards Gellert, who had addressed the wizard at the reception.

"My associate and I would like to discuss business matters in complete privacy," he explained politely.

This place seemed to be made precisely for such necessities. Without batting an eyelash, the wizard took the key from what he called the Orb Weaver Suite and handed it to Gellert, receiving a generous handful of gold in return. He assured them complimentary drinks would be sent to their room.

With this, they were guided upstairs into what turned out to be a large room containing both a work corner with a writing desk and a set of chairs and also a spider-shaped bed with a chest for clothes and a wash stand.

When the door closed on them with the promise that the refreshments were on the way, Albus could not help but comment thoughtfully, "Muggles are much more particular about spiders."

"Magical spiders are often witches' familiars," Gellert explained. "Whenever you are ready."

Taking his eyes off the spider ornaments, Albus turned to face him, his mind focusing on what they were about to share.

"I'm ready."

The other wizard was silent for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

"I vow to share my memories with you, Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore," he said in a clear and articulate voice. "You may use Legilimency to enter my mind today and view those memories. So be it."

Albus continued with his part of the oath, "I vow to respect the boundaries you set when I venture into your mind. If we should part after your revelation, I will submit to your Memory Charm to lose all knowledge of what you have shown me. So be it."

They took hold of each other's wand hand, murmuring an incantation, and a shiver of magic ran through their joined fingers, sealing the oath.

This done, Gellert pocketed his wand and slowly approached Albus. Just as the distance between them diminished, Albus felt the other wizard's hand land on the small of his back, pulling him closer, as if for a kiss. He could smell the pleasant fragrance of cologne on the other young man's collar, could see the carotid artery underneath the soft pale skin.

Everything was so familiar about him, yet there was something of a novelty every time too, as if Gellert were inexplicably trained in the art of seduction. More captivating than anything else were his sapphire eyes. Just a little shift in shade made them so different from his own sky blue ones. Albus felt he could positively drown in them, and after a moment, he did just that. Even as he perceived Gellert's heartbeat against his own, the other wizard's pale skin tangible under his hands, the room around them dissolved into a night.

 

**AN:** Well, dear readers, we might as well have skipped the chapter to come, but we would like to entertain you by showing you some memories. This chapter reveals Gellert's motivations pretty clearly. Whether he is being manipulative towards Albus is up to you to decide, but as far as his motivations go, they are not merely about supremacy; we’ve never seen it this way. Tom is the one whose sole motivation was supremacy; Gellert is more complicated in our view. Whether he has a point or not is, once again, up to you to decide. Any comments will be welcome; they make our day.

Do you think poor Dieter has finally succumbed to Stockholm syndrome? :D


	18. XVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

The contours of the Orb Weaver Suite faded into a starry night. The hooting of owls could be heard through the rustling trees, and somewhere in the distance, long, peaceful notes of a church bell filled the languid air.

Albus realised he was standing in a garden, one that surrounded a timber-framed house of a peculiar shape: the very same that Gellert had drawn for Ariana the evening before. He spotted the blond wizard at once, even though this Gellert was much younger, only at the start of his teenagehood. Already tall for his age, endowed with angelic features, he was at the doorstep, staring before him with an air of fear and outrage. And Albus saw the reason for it in a wink. Gellert's father was there, absorbed in a heated discussion with two wizards, who seemed to come from the Department of Law Enforcement. Their robes had an official pattern, their wands were drawn, and their faces... Albus could not quite remember seeing such unyielding faces in his life, even though he had visited his father in Azkaban and had witnessed his share of harshness. All three men were gesticulating emphatically as they spoke, Edgar's motions those of outraged dignity while those of the Ministry officials were categorical and commanding. They were manifestly ordering him to cease resisting and come quietly, lest he make it worse for himself.

Having always wondered why Madam Bagshot treated her great-nephew with prejudice and resenting her for it, Albus now had a feeling the true reason was before his eyes. There was something very English about Edgar's appearance: it could be his tall, slim frame, or his neat features, which inevitably called Bathilda to mind, or even the way he was dressed. He was half-English, but the only German part of him appeared to be the surname. Gellert had inherited his luminous looks from his mother. After Madam Bagshot had revealed just how close she had been to Edgar and how much she had disapproved of his marriage, it was safe to assume she saw Gellert as a living reminder of her nephew's greatest _mistake_ , as she perceived it. Her fondness for Edgar had stretched so far as to take his son in for the summer, but it ended there. This, combined with her somewhat rigid mindset, also explained why she could not find it in herself to grow fond of Dieter, another _German_ boy. As Albus watched Edgar argue his case, he understood exactly his reasoning and his hope for an appeal to his rights as a wizard. His manners were those of an Englishman too. But it was to no avail. The next moment, one of the officials took out a pin from his dark tie and handed it to Gellert with words that conveyed an uncompromising meaning: the boy was to keep it as a memory. He was not going to see his father again.

Just when it seemed that the memory could not become any more heart-breaking, they heard a scream, and a witch rushed out into the garden, her golden hair dishevelled around her pale face. Pretty yet fragile, she gave the impression of a delicate flower. She cried at the wizards, which caused the tension to escalate even further. Despite Edgar's increasingly desperate protestations, one of the officers moved forward, as if intent on reprimanding her, but Gellert blocked his path, shielding his mother. The Ministry official paused at the hard look on his face before deciding to turn around. His colleague had already conjured magical handcuffs around Edgar's wrists. The prisoner had but one moment, a few seconds' worth, to cast his family a gaze that spoke volumes. He attempted to mouth something—maybe words of love and encouragement, maybe those of reassurance. The next instant, both officers put a hand on him, and they Disapparated, leaving the mother and the son alone in the garden, Gellert's yet childishly skinny arms restraining the crying witch, struggling to provide comfort and protection.

The scene dissolved, and even though it had taken place in late evening, lit with nothing but the stars and two drops of Lumos, it morphed into utter blackness. Then something ghostly, something sinister appeared, and Albus had to hold back a scream. It was the most horrific vision the human mind could conjure. The contours of a lady's feet appeared under swinging skirts, coming closer and closer. When her upper body and lifeless arms came into view, his eyes widened in horror. Her long hair could not quite cover the rope around her neck, which had snapped at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were open wide on her ashen visage, and her mouth—

This memory imploded as darkness absorbed everything around. Albus took a breath, and when he blinked, he found himself back in the inn in Gellert's embrace. Taking a deep breath, the blond wizard slowly withdrew and walked towards the window. Albus watched him, his chest heaving with pain.

"I never told you why any of this happened," Gellert said, his eyes fixed on Knockturn Alley. "The truth is... You saw the village we lived in, and you saw our house. Ours was the wealthiest dwelling for miles around: something that irked our Muggle neighbours. One day, disaster struck. There was a Muggle murder. A disappointed fiancé decided to stab his bride-to-be because of an alleged affair she was having with someone in the village. Rumour had it she was planning on running off and was discovered. _That_ was not the true disaster; it was the fact that it had to be my father who found this Muggle while she was drawing her last breath… and the villagers were not far behind him. What they saw was the wealthy man they had always been jealous of apparently finishing what he had started, so they decided to act, though all he was trying to do was save her. Non-magical injuries are easy for a wizard to heal after all. It escalated; the prejudiced and aggressive villagers wouldn't listen. They attacked, and my father had to use magic to stop the crowd from tearing him apart. Thus he broke the Statute of Secrecy and was charged with violence against Muggles. Just like your father."

He paused. "There was even more. After the incident, the villagers continued to harass and torture my mother. I very much doubt they had cared about that stupid Muggle girl in the first place—it was just an excuse. One day, it became too much. What is even worse, she wouldn't tell me half of it even though _I_ was now the head of our family. I went back to Durmstrang while she had to stay there all alone…"

Albus wanted to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Gellert's tense posture caused him to halt. It was visible that the memory of his father's arrest still filled him with rage and helplessness and any touch would be unwelcome, met with hostility.

"I hated Muggles, you know—hated them with passion. I was determined to extract revenge and take down as many of them as I could, no matter the consequences or my own future. I didn't have it thought through, however, and feverish as I was, upon my unfortunate escapade, I got lost and injured in the woods. Most ironically, it was a Muggle hunter who found me, and he and his family nursed me back to health, sparing me no comfort until I was ready to leave. Afterwards, I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Slowly, I came to understand that it was the system that was rotten, not Muggles. Muggles can be good or bad. It is not their fault they fear magic when confronted with it—how could they not? But how we, wizards, approach the problem, is with us; in the long run, it only harms _us_ : the likes of our fathers, my mother or Ariana, they suffer the most. So… I hope you understand now. I don't hate Muggles. I just wish there could be justice and that Muggle criminals would be held responsible, just like the wizards who commit atrocities are held responsible for their actions."

At last, he turned back towards Albus to meet his eye. With a gentle expression, the English wizard nodded, and Gellert went on, composing himself.

"Later, I returned to school."

"Show me," Albus whispered.

With another deep intake of breath, they locked gazes, and in a few heartbeats, Albus was transported to the middle of a very peculiar dining hall.

The first thing he noticed was the view. Tall windows ran along the entirety of a long wall, and the panoramic landscape was more breathtaking than anything he had ever seen, including the scenery around Hogwarts. Mountains, immense and snow-covered, towered over an azure lake, which reflected them in a nearly perfect symmetry. Despite the undeniable frost behind the windows and the particularly cool shade of the lake, the dining hall was filled with light, creating an atmosphere of warmth and cosiness. This light came from the glowing magical orbs on the ceiling, but what truly amplified it was the wall opposite the window arches. It was covered in what looked like diamonds—small, gleaming stones that dispersed every beam of light, sending it across the room. The wall all but hurt the eyes, but its beauty was a perfect complement to the magnificence of the outside view, and perhaps it was the reason—besides the magic—why the many green plants in the hall were doing so well. Now that Albus looked more closely, he noticed another significant difference, compared to Hogwarts: there were no long tables but a multitude of small ones. And as soon as he focused on those, he was pleased to catch sight of Dieter and Gellert carrying empty silver trays. There was a little chubbiness still to the shorter wizard's cheeks, attesting to his middle teenagehood.

He confidently headed for a small table, the one that seemed to be his and Gellert's favourite spot. When he deposited his tray, he looked up at his friend, but the latter was not doing the same. Instead, he spoke, and while the words came in German, Albus understood them. Gellert was translating for him in his mind.

"I received an invitation," the tall wizard said lightly, his head inclined towards a bigger table, where a sizable party of boys had settled.

"Oh." Dieter suppressed a grimace upon recognising their faces. "Do we have to?"

"You misunderstand me. _I_ received an invitation. I'll sit there today."

The words cut across Dieter like a whip. He stared at Gellert in surprise and disbelief. His response, when he mustered it, was steady, though.

"I see… All right…"

"I'll see you later." With a nod, his friend turned and walked towards the other table.

The hurt in Dieter's eyes as he sat down caused Albus's heart to squeeze with pity. His shoulders slouched, the blond boy gave his tray a tap with his wand, and food appeared at once, but he ate it without enthusiasm. The same could not be said of the other boys, none of whom showed a sign of compassion or any other form of acknowledgement towards the lone wizard.

When the memory disintegrated, the contours of a pub emerged, presumably a private lounge in Gretten Bjørn. A billiard table stood in the middle, and several boys were walking around it with sticks or glasses in hand. Two of them even smoked cigars. Gellert was there, listening to one of the boys telling a story. Most of those wizards could be recognised from the previous memory, in which he had left Dieter for a more popular table. They were all grown now, and Gellert himself looked exactly as he did in present, which could only mean this memory belonged to one of his final school years.

"You'd say it's a prank, right?" one of the youths pursued rather emphatically. "Just a stupid prank, for crying out loud! Not the brightest one, granted, but nothing to get excited over. So the Muggle had sores and boils for an hour; he should have known better than to trespass. The Ministry patched him up in minutes, and there he went, memory as good as new. He learned nothing, and Anders's parents had to pay 500 Galleons in fine. 500 solid gold pieces! For _what_? All that gold goes to the Ministry. It's nothing but a scheme for robbing wizards of their wealth. Overseas, they have the right to even kill trespassers when it comes to that. But _nooo_ , as soon as it's a Muggle, we can't do anything, can we now? Never mind that the Muggle in question was no innocent lost unicorn—far from it. I don't usually get angry like this, but everyone has limits."

The speaker was an auburn-haired wizard wearing a practical waistcoat and glasses, which gave him a somewhat scholarly appearance. He had spoken in English, which was a tell-tale sign for Albus that it had to be an international sort of gathering for young wizards. There were no witches in sight either.

As Albus tried to pinpoint the wizard's nationality from his somewhat softer accent, there were laughs and appreciative murmurs, though one of the distinctly German-looking boys objected, "That's all very well, you know, but how about setting up some wards around their land? Have they ever heard of that?"

"Yes, thank you," the auburn-haired youth snapped. "But as you should know by now, wizarding properties erected in the vicinity of Muggle official centres are restricted in the magic they can use around their lands. Anders lives in a coastal area, which is expanding very rapidly. And that's not even the point. The point is, _we_ have to pay for every single time Muggles stick their noses where they don't belong. How long until the Ministry declares all magic illegal this way? And what about Muggle weapons? The Muggle trespasser we're talking about carried one of those long guns and a knife. What if he'd hurt Anders, someone from his family or one of their familiars? In my opinion, wizards severely underestimate the danger."

"Per is right," another boy cut in, taking a swing of his drink. "Muggles have been developing their weapons for centuries. I've looked into it recently. Canons, guns of all shapes and sizes, and a Muggle from our country recently invented Incendio and called it _dynamite_. The Ministry takes over things like trains and typing machines—things we don't really need if we know how to use magic and can come up with our own alternatives. But to take some of those weapons for our side to _educate_ wizards on how they work and how to protect ourselves against them… of course not. Who'd ever think of that?"

"Who needs their retarded weapons?" yet another wizard said, sending a ball rolling into one of the openings on the billiard table. "Who needs _anything_ they make? We are _magical_ , they are _ordinary_ , not all that different from animals. That's all there is to it. I'd forbid all Muggle inventions if I could. We've done well without them, and we'll stay self-sufficient in the future too. And if there's a need for testing new spells—well, the Muggle population is too big as it is. Take any large city in any country. Those places used to be pleasant; now, they're overrun and swarming with pests."

"Forbid all Muggle inventions, you say?" the wizard who had spoken earlier echoed, chuckling. "Sounds good to me. No more billiard for you, Helmut. No more cigars, I should think. Oh, and you'd better take off your underwear. When Merlin roamed the woods, he didn't need all that Muggle nonsense. A healthy breeze on your privates helps stimulate the magical prowess, or so I hear."

"Don't you say," the wizard named Helmut retorted. "Ah, of course… No, no, Jonas, it's all right; we all know it would be a convenient excuse for you to flash witches and then claim, _ooh, but it was ze wind_. Wouldn't be ze first time, or?"

The boys laughed, but Jonas rolled his eyes.

"Resorting to the level of a three-year-old," he commented idly. "How clever of you, Helmut. Also, I was supposed to be alone—oh, dra åt skogen!"

Helmut merely shrugged.

"It's not like you Swedes don't secretly entertain such dirty thoughts, right, Gellert?"

"Don't drag me into this," Gellert replied jokingly, mock-raising his arms in surrender.

One other boy who had not yet spoken broke the silence, saving Gellert from the necessity of taking part in the hostile argument between the Swedish wizard and the wizard named Helmut.

"I think you're all overlooking the bigger picture. The problem with Muggles is in their backwards mindset. They are witch hunters—they always were, and they always will be. Why did most Dark spells get invented in the times when we didn't live in secrecy? To have at least some protection. Those twisted Muggle beliefs—it is the most hypocritical thing I've ever heard of. They are meant to be peaceful and inclusive, but the moment someone steps out of line, Muggles are ready to burn one of their own at the stake. Everything that slightly deviates from conventional Muggle norms is deemed dangerous. And you may have been too blind to see it, but that's exactly what our Ministries are trying to establish here. They want us to adopt this dangerous Muggle mindset, and that is the true danger; I mean, just look how many useless dogmas we have already overtaken from Muggles—"

"Oh, I know where this is going," yet another wizard spoke up suddenly. "Matthias can't get laid!"

If the boys had been laughing before at Jonas's expense, it had been nothing compared to the shrieks of laughter they had let out now. Everyone had understood the reference to the fact that wizards would often copy the Muggle marriage model, which usually demanded that the bride be virginal. Something Matthias appeared to find rather inconvenient.

However, just like Jonas before him, he contented himself with an eyeroll.

"At least I'm not the one who ended up in the Infirmary after trying to cast Engorgio on myself."

"No way! Who did that?!" someone yelled. "And most importantly, _why_?"

"Maybe to impress giants?" someone else suggested.

"Yees," Matthias drawled, his German accent becoming more pronounced, "just imagine 'ow eet vould look: vandering right into the middle of a giant lair and zaying: _don't kill me, ladies, I haff zomething for you_. But I vouldn't be surprised iff Manfred here vould really try zat."

"For your information, it was just an ugly rumour about Engorgio—funny how you repeat it like some _girl_ —but it's all right; still doesn't change the fact that Helga isn't giving you any, does it now? Must be frustrating."

Matthias merely shrugged. "You started the topic, Manfred; it 'ad to be for somezing. Maybe ze house-elves didn't work out for you and you considered trying your luck with giants, hmm? Off course, you 'ad to know eef you could ztill get it up vhen it's longer zan your legs, zo you decided to try, or?"

"Ew, house-elves and giants," Gellert commented. "Don't you guys remember the first rule of wand safety? _You can't stick it just anywhere_."

"Oh, but of course! Goody two-shoes, I-can-do-no-wrong Gellert has spoken," one of the wizards returned mockingly. "Will you at least have some of these?"

Albus watched as a cigar was passed over to Gellert, who politely refused.

"I have a feeling Muggles might regret this particular invention one day. But speaking of Muggles, where were we?"

"Finally someone said something that makes sense," Helmut grumbled. "But of course, the moron squad had to interrupt, like they always do. We were indeed on the topic of Muggles. More precisely, the ways they poison our lives. I sometimes wish we could gather all that Muggle mob and put on a show of Dark magic: Fiendfyre, Necromancy, Cruciatus… Just watch them wet themselves and try to reason it all away with their tiny minds. Watch their beliefs shatter."

"Excellent idea," the boy who had tried offering Gellert a cigar commented sardonically. "Sign me up for the front seat. In exchange, I'll come and visit you in prison."

The wizards' laughter died away, and seconds later, Albus felt himself leaving Gellert's mind. They were back in the suite, next to the spider-shaped bed, onto which they sat down.

"The reason I've showed you this is so that you'd understand… It is not merely my paranoia; wizards _are_ growing angrier at the current situation," Gellert spoke slowly. "Everyone you just saw are the sons of prominent political figures in their countries. If you follow international news clippings, you may come across their names some day. They are the future. The question is… with the general mood becoming ever more radical, what will future be like? Most of it is just talk, certainly, but the key word here is _most_ , not _all_."

Albus nodded, weighing everything he had heard in his mind. He now regretted never paying much attention to Slytherins' power play at Hogwarts, so long as they remained in line. He had not been close to the Slytherin prefects either.

"They need a leader," he agreed. "Someone who can steer them away from radicalism and offer reforms that will benefit wizards without disrupting the Muggle population." He paused. "You have the right ideas, and you are strong enough. But you need to be very careful, Gellert. Your charisma is powerful, and sometimes you may not fully realise just how much so."

The smile Gellert gave him in response was a genuinely happy one.

"Navigating through their games and establishing myself among them is precisely what I have been doing," he admitted. "It wasn't easy. Dieter disapproves, as you already know; and it's true, I had to cut him off, but… it was necessary. You understand, don't you, Albus?"

"I do. You wanted to give him a chance to move on and create a life for himself." A small smile lit Albus's features. "Fortunately for you, though, he is much too loyal to do this. He will rather keep you from harm than save himself. Such friends are very, very rare, and now that he has decided to stay of his own will... let's make him as happy as we can."

This piece of information clearly came as news to Gellert.

"He has decided to stay?" the latter asked in some confusion. "Did he tell you that? I thought he wanted to leave as soon as he could..."

Albus nodded again, a little surprised, though not much so.

"This morning, he mentioned your conversation from after dinner and admitted he could now see your ideas were valid. He said radicalism was present and someone had to do something about it. But he is worried still. He wants to help."

Gellert groaned. "Not that I am not pleased, but… it is difficult to express. We were roommates, you know. Neither of us has any siblings, so he is something of a brother to me; everything I did was precisely for his sake, even… ah, let's not beautify it—even the way I kidnapped him. Because in the end, that's what it was: an act of kidnapping. I held him at wandpoint, made him pack the essentials and forcibly smuggled him out of Durmstrang, thus ruining his graduation. He really didn't want anything else: just to graduate and find an employment. A little boring, perhaps, but it was his dream... which I have ruined. I thought he would always hate me after this, yet now you are telling me he wants to stay. I am not sure what to say to this."

"I know," Albus whispered, gently pressing his hand. He knew what Dieter wanted more than anything else, but he also knew Gellert would not give it to him. It was something he occasionally had to marvel at: wizards' pride. Even where a simple apology was concerned. There was no point in saying any of it out loud. "Let's just take a good care of him. He takes pleasure in simple things: going to new places, meeting people, playing sports and chess. He should have all of this and more. It's going to be all right."

"I did suggest… seeking professional help once," Gellert remarked in his usual mischievous voice, "but surprisingly, the Stinging Hex I received in return hurt quite a bit. Still, this severe affliction called _virginity_ that he suffers from must be taking its toll. So for starters, maybe we could find a girl for him. I actually might have promised him that already."

Chuckling despite himself, Albus reached out to affectionately stroke his cheek. "I approve. Only, when he goes to such an event, he'd better go alone or with me. You will draw all eyes to yourself, love. Not fair."

"I am capable of performing the Disillusionment Charm, you know," Gellert objected with a laugh. "Besides, we have to make sure he picks well; who better to give advice than—"

But he stopped right in the middle of his joke, as if inwardly chastasing himself.

"I'm sorry. The truth is… I might just be the worst wizard for giving advice of any sort, or we wouldn't be here today. There are a few more memories you ought to see. My campaigning among the elite was eventually noticed, and not everybody was pleased."

Having said this, Gellert stood up, suddenly too restless to remain seated any longer.

Sobering up at once, Albus followed suit, his expression concerned. Was he about to find out more on the subject of Gellert's duel, which had led to his flight?

"You can show me," he assured the other wizard. "I'm ready to see."

Gellert was quiet for a while.

"I should probably show you why I got expelled," he said at last, as if guessing Albus's thoughts.

"Did some of them—"

"Oh, no. While none of my friends were particularly shy about breaking the rules, we were always careful. Like I said, though, it was indeed my campaigning that led to it; only, not in the way you would imagine. Here…"

Gellert concentrated, and once again, Albus felt himself pulled inside a memory.

This time, the contours of a different room emerged. It was even more populated. Albus saw Gellert at a circular poker table, face to face with a rather Eastern-looking boy in expensive robes. Quite a few students stood around them, watching the game, and more lounged on seats at different spots of the room. Unlike the previous memory, where the atmosphere had been more casual, this one was positively crackling with tension. The way the others stood close to the Eastern boy, eying Gellert in a serious and even would-be intimidating manner, made it seem as though they were the boy's minions rather than friends. Gellert, however, looked perfectly calm and relaxed as he flicked a card, as though he could not feel the weight of the other wizard's hostile black eyes.

"So," the latter commented, his voice hard, "had much luck with Falibor?"

"Excuse me?" Gellert asked politely. "I don't think I understand you, Ignat. I only talked to him once—about Quidditch, no less."

"Quidditch, is it?" the wizard drawled sneeringly, though his face remained stony. "Funny how you approached _him_ , of all the others, knowing he had distant relations to your country. That's how people like you act—quietly, sneakily, sweet-talking their way through everything."

Gellert sighed, a little annoyance seeping into his handsome features.

"Don't ruin a good game, Ignat," he said. "First, I am not disputing your privileges in any way—have your birth rights and everything else, for all I care. You and I are not enemies. Second, why don't you wizards ever invite witches to these events? Just wondering."

"It is because Ignat feels threatened by us," a girl's voice carried forth.

Gellert looked up and saw a Bulgarian witch emerge from the shadows.

She was tall and athletic, her hair fixed in two braids rather than in one of the updos witches usually wore. Her appearance seemed to combine Bulgarian descent with Turkish darker skin and Mongolian slanted eyes. Her countenance was equally unusual: for all her striking features, she seemed to exude an almost male confidence quite unsuitable for ladies.

"Threatened by you?" Ignat returned, turning a card. "You're being unfair, Zhivka. It is precisely a witch who gave Grindelwald's little girlfriend an overdue lesson."

"A misunderstanding," Gellert smiled at the newcomer. "I'm sure Iskra shared with you girls what really happened."

The witch smiled back.

"Impressive mind magic," she commented before addressing her countryman. "You lost that one, Ignat, admit it—Mr Grindelwald had one over you."

"Appreciated," Gellert nodded. "But I'd hate for this lovely evening to turn sour—especially after Ignat's kind invitation."

Zhivka looked at him, intrigued.

"Who's winning, boys?" she asked, sitting down next to Gellert.

The memory dissipated just as Albus marvelled at the skilful way in which Gellert had handled the situation: a situation where, by all means, he had been meant to feel outnumbered, isolated and at a disadvantage. However the game had continued, Ignat had not achieved the victory he had been hoping for. If anything, Gellert had gained admirers from the Bulgarian clique under the latter's very nose. If Albus were perfectly honest with himself, though, he did not like the girl. Perhaps he had no right to judge objectively, given his feelings for Gellert. Maybe it was natural to feel jealous of those who made their interest for his lover so clear—he had felt that way with other witches already. And yet, it seemed to him that there was more to his dislike than pure jealousy. He could _feel_ this girl was no good, and not because she carried herself like a man or spoke out of turn. The true reason, he could not formulate. He had not sensed it with Olivia. She had inspired jealousy in him, yes, but nothing like  
this instinctive dislike. Deciding to suspend his judgment and wait, he prepared himself for the next memory.

This one showed Gellert studying by himself in the library. It had to be late, for there were no other students around. None other came to join him but Zhivka.

"I come in peace," she assured him, mock-lifting her hands in the air to show surrender.

Gellert glanced up. "What a pleasant surprise. Please, have a seat."

The witch smiled in return. "How is the studying going?"

"It's all right," Gellert answered, "but I very much doubt you're here to talk about studying."

"No," Zhivka admitted, "I am curious about you, Gellert Grindelwald. I come to satisfy this curiosity."

"Is that so? And what does Ignat think about it?"

"I don't particularly care," Zhivka admitted. "Ignat only desires me because he can't have me—male ego. Sadly, we overtook it from the Muggles of our country. The Muggle history of Bulgaria is a rather muddled one. The Ottoman Turks did quite a number on us, I'm afraid—not that it had been much better before—so Nerida went far North and founded this school. An extraordinary witch. Of course, a scumbag of a German wizard murdered her and took over. You Germans are so charming sometimes."

Gellert smiled. " _Allegedly_. It can't be proven that he murdered her."

"Ah, there it is," she said triumphantly. "That line starts all the conflicts. I'm disappointed, Mr Grindelwald."

Gellert winced. "That was harsh—I merely paid Nerida a compliment. In fact, I don't believe she was so naïve as to trust a stranger. Not after what she'd witnessed during her life. If anything, the story is more complicated than we are made believe."

Zhivka's eyes narrowed in interest.

"My, my, don't you have a silver tongue, Mr Grindelwald—no wonder Ignat feels threatened. Gallant, charming, a smooth talker… quite the opposite of Ignat, you are. Although, still a _wizard_ , and let's face it: you wizards are easy to fool. Fragile egos."

"Do I seem fragile to you?" Gellert frowned.

"Oh, we'll find out," Zhivka said challengingly. "But that's for later. For now, I am interested in your ideas; you've been busy making connections, they say. I take it you have plans for what you will do with those connections after Durmstrang… Do tell."

Gellert leaned back in his chair, smiling. "You know, Zhivka, you are something else. And please, it's Gellert; no need for unnecessary formalities within these walls. Formalities are for outside."

As this vision dissolved yet again, Albus was left cringing. His dislike of the girl was intensified. She was the very opposite of an English lady, what with her blunt manner of speaking and her almost aggressive manner of pursuing what—in this case whom—she wanted. He did not care if this made him a close-minded hypocrite; he simply disliked her. Besides, he knew Gellert had to have a reason to be showing him these memories, however unpleasant they could be for Albus to watch. That could only mean the flirtation had led to something impactful, something of great importance. And the moment this thought occurred to him, Albus recalled what Gellert had revealed to him some weeks ago, when he had admitted to killing Ignat by accident. Could it possibly be because of that girl, or was he being overly paranoid? His heart sinking and his worry increased, Albus left himself drift into the next recollection.

"Zhivka and I became involved with one another," Gellert's voice carried over as the memories became a blur.

Indeed, what Albus found himself witnessing next was too much for his English mindset. Gellert was with that very same Bulgarian witch—and in a rather intimate setting, to put it mildly.

"You're not a virgin, are you?" the blond wizard asked, frowning as he paused in what had been a rather intense lip-locking session.

In response, she merely laughed. It was answer enough for Gellert, whose hair was tousled and whose handsome face was alight with lust. It _hurt_ to see his lover like that with someone else. To Albus's relief, the memory was sped up sparing him quite a few details.

He had never seen a _lady_ like that. Moreover, he could not have even imagined one. There was nothing delicate about the Bulgarian witch: in truth, her confidence and her way of being were the opposite of femininity. Somehow, in her masculine demeanour, she appeared to be almost evenly matched with Gellert in passion.

Was that what irked him so? That she could have provoked feelings of such lust and shameless enjoyment? He did not know, but of one thing he was certain: he did not want to see her nude. And yet, he did. Just before Gellert mercifully closed his mind to him, there was a glimpse of the two of them with him placing her gently on the pillows. Perhaps _that_ was what hurt the most: the very intimacy between them.

Her challenging look right after the encounter and the lines exchanged between them were the last thing Albus witnessed.

_"You are one insatiable witch."_

_"You are so sweet—I could positively sup on your flesh. Maybe I will one day."_

The words reverberated in his head as his vision registered the familiar surroundings of the room. He needed a moment to calm down, to process it all, to think rationally. Lowering himself on the bed, he stared at the ceiling decorated with a spiderweb motive. It had happened in the past. Gellert had a past, he had every right to have it, and Albus had always known it. He would never, ever be one of those who felt they owned Gellert, that they _deserved_ him. Gellert was free, and if, one day, he stopped loving Albus, there would be nothing but accepting it, no matter how badly it wrecked him.

The other wizard seemed to understand it was better to let his companion speak first.

"Did you love her?" Albus asked despite himself.

"I appreciated her. She was different, quite unlike the other witches—especially unlike the other Bulgarian witches," came a thoughtful answer. "But I never promised her anything. We… enjoyed each other. Or so I thought. I'm sorry you had to see even that much. I am aware it was… difficult for you. You are a very strong Legilimens; it is not easy to block your access on time if you resist. With a little practice, you will be able to break through even trained minds."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. If anything, I should be sorry."

Turning the memories in his mind, Albus recalled a conversation he and Gellert had had in June.

"When we were together for the first time, you told me you had not been faithful to your previous lovers. Was that the reason—"

"Yes." Gellert heaved a sigh. "Around the same period, I got closer to Olivia, and it was time to end the affair with Zhivka. It was… quite unpleasant business. She attempted to go after Olivia first, but I made it clear I'd drown her in the lake if she touched so much as a hair on Olivia's head. She swore vengeance, and true to her promise, she found a way to go after me directly, thus ruining my graduation—and Dieter's as well since he came to warn me and I had no choice but to pull him into this mess. Her timing was perfect, I must admit, and Ignat was quite the idiot for getting fooled by the damsel card she played on him. I'm sorry you had to see this, Albus. Messing with those Bulgarians is the biggest mistake I've ever made. Ignat's family will not rest until they've made me pay for their son's death."

Albus contemplated him. "When those with influence throw tantrums, lives can be ruined. You and Dieter lost your homes and your diplomas and are forced to be on the run. And Ignat lost his life... I can imagine what kind of wizard he was, but still, he lost his life because _she_ felt entitled to you. And from what I've seen, I wager she is not even sorry for what she's done."

"Not in the least," Gellert said bitterly. "If anything, she's happy she got both of us. I hate to agree with her, but we, wizards, sometimes _are_ stupid. I am very fortunate that you are not like this, Albus. You can see things clearly while I sometimes still lose sight."

They looked at each other, Albus's mind a whirlpool of thoughts. He could not help but compare that bold yet vengeful Bulgarian witch to Olivia, whose love was selfless and who bore her pain with a moving, quiet dignity, going so far as to treat him, Albus, kindly. He touched Gellert's hand, wishing he could undo all the suffering the blond wizard had gone through.

"There were others, weren't there?" he asked gently.

"There were," Gellert admitted, "but nothing serious."

Suddenly, he grinned. "Believe it or not, but not all of my school life was parties and campaigning."

Smiling back, Albus hesitated, wondering whether his next question would be too personal. He did not wish to make Gellert uncomfortable.

"Did any... of those young men express interest as well? You mentioned they were powerful and often spoiled."

"No," Gellert assured him, smiling. "You heard them: they prefer house-elves and giants."

Seeing how serious Albus was, though, he added, "Well, there was a wizard, if I am completely honest, but it didn't lead anywhere. In fact, he positively annoyed me, so I got him expelled."

Upon the slightly shocked look on the Englishman's face, his own expression lost some of its cockiness.

"Albus, you are the only wizard I've ever been with this way."

And as if to confirm those words, Gellert kissed him gently. It took away some of the insecurity that had been settling in Albus's chest like a heavy burden. He could not help himself.

"Who was he?" he asked. "Why did you get him expelled?"

Gellert gazed at him, for once clearly struggling to explain. After all, just like Dieter, the English wizard had never been a part of any power play and had lived this long in blissful ignorance of careful manipulation. One could not afford a single misstep in these games.

It was with these thoughts in mind that he started explaining.

"Remember how Archie called me _infamous_?" he asked with a smile. "And you then repeated his words?"

Albus closed his eyes with a grimace. "I regret it still and wish I could un-say it. I remember, though."

"Don't worry; I understand why you felt compelled to. The reason I brought this up is… our ministries are more connected than you think. At Olivia's ball, you saw quite a number of Beauxbatons students. It is no coincidence. Once you belong to a certain social class, the difference in schools and countries is not that significant. In fact, had Auntie taken me in back then, transferring me to Hogwarts, I would not have escaped certain bad fame even then. I am referring, of course, to my father's arrest. Rumours spread quickly. People found out I was the son of a… ahem, _criminal_."

Albus had to nod. It had been the same in his case. Gellert had anticipated his reaction.

"We are similar in this regard. But the difference is that you abstained from school politics while I did not. I engaged in it. I had to find a way to gain respect despite my heritage. Yet when you deal with people who are used to power, there is a balance between commanding respect… and becoming their plaything. Whatever happens, one must avoid the latter by a long shot. Do you understand, Albus?'

"I do," came an earnest reply. "There is no place for weakness in power play, or they will tear you apart. You are powerfully magical, more so than any wizard I have ever met. But you needed their support for your plans, and the balance is delicate. I understand."

Gellert sighed. Albus's words sounded almost rehearsed, as if the latter knew the theory but had never dared to imagine all the aspects power play entailed. Physicality was one of them.

"I had to be ruthless there," he explained. "Dear Pierre tried to play nice, even offered help with my campaign. But accepting anything of the sort in exchange for becoming someone's plaything… that is far beneath me. I prefer to not confuse pleasure with the other strategies I might have. Even what transpired between Zhivka and me was not to slide Ignat; reckless as it was, it happened because it was enjoyable, and neither of us was each other's first. What I am saying is, I've never _used_ you, Albus. I admit that when I first met you, I thought it would be wise to have a contact outside of Durmstrang and with no connection to it; in fact, I even wooed you a little, catching your interest by inviting you along to the ball. Dieter has probably tried to tell you that much already. But everything that happened afterwards was genuine. I never _use_ anyone for achieving my goals; it is one of my principles. Of course, it means that _I_ don't wish to be used by anyone else either."

"It is the right principle," Albus asserted. "I... know; Dieter told me. I understand, Gellert; I wouldn't have expected anything else. And I believe you when you say your feelings are genuine."

He was serious. Gellert's reason behind excluding Dieter from his presence, he had understood a while ago. The same went for Olivia, whose status and obligations had made any union between them impossible. And as for the Bulgarian witch, Gellert had never intended to pledge himself to her. Albus knew some would call him insane for putting his trust into a wizard who had abandoned several people—people who had been emotionally attached to him. But actions spoke louder than words, and the fact remained that Gellert was offering him a chance to come with him and share his future as an equal. He was sharing his memories with him too: the most intimate and precious part of oneself that could be shared. And Albus loved him for all the flaws he had glimpsed.

"Can you tell me about Pierre?"

"He was being stubborn and wouldn't take the hint that I wasn't interested. Of course, I am not entirely blameless either: I toyed with him a little. After promising to think about it, I invited him to a romantic date… except when he showed up, I was rather engaged with a certain witch. My friends made sure to add fuel to the fire and mocked him quite mercilessly. As a result, his reputation suffered to a degree. He must have felt a little foolish. At least, that was the idea: to let the rumours spread about him getting hoodwinked, which, in turn, should be sufficient to make him stop his pursuit. Only, it wasn't. If anything, my little stunt made him pretty angry—angry enough to try and drug me for… not so innocent purposes, I should think. For once, luck was on my side. I got wind of it just in time and was able to set up a trap for him, thus getting him expelled. If there is something Durmstrang will never tolerate, it is violence against fellow students; to get away with something like this, you have to be smart. Luckily for me, Pierre wasn't half as smart."

Gellert paused. The memory of _toying_ with the wizard named Pierre had positively made him smile.

"Perhaps I should show you. Who knows, you might come across him one day."

He held out his hand; physical contact always facilitated Legilimency. Once again, Albus leaned into the touch and allowed himself to get lost in the other wizard's eyes.

The place was crowded and merry: a tall Christmas tree stood at the far end of the lounge, and mead flowed generously, as did Cauldron Spirit. Gellert directed Albus's attention to a small group of youngsters, where the blond wizard could be spotted at once. He looked only a little younger than at present, so this evening could have taken place no more than two years earlier. It was already the Gellert he knew.

Everybody appeared to be sitting in a circle, occasionally spinning an empty bottle with their wands.  
"A game of Truth or dare," Gellert's voice explained, momentarily drowning out the sounds of the memory.

"Pierre, you're on," someone said. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," a pale, dark-haired youth answered without skipping a beat.

He was tall and lanky, dressed in expensive clothes, and his grey eyes held the detachment of someone who had always possessed all he could think of without so much as having to say _please_. Despite this, there was something strange, almost sickly about the contrast between his sleek black hair with a bluish hue and his pale face. His features were sharp, all angles and no roundness.

For the life of him, Albus could not place his nationality. For all he knew, the boy could be English, except his name implied otherwise.

"I dare you to"—the other student paused dramatically—"kiss Gellert!"

The latter reacted at once. "Now wait a minute!"

His voice was lost, though, under the laughter and the dramatic sighs of his fellow players. The young man called Pierre was not deterred.

"What is it? Are you worried people might find out what a terrible kisser you are?"

"Yes, Gellert—kissy-kiss—a dare eez a dare." This came from another young man, whom Albus immediately recognised as Helmut from one of the previous memories.

Gellert frowned while the other students kept urging him and Pierre on.

"You perverts really want to see this, don't you?" the blond wizard asked, addressing no one in particular.

"I don't bite, you know," Pierre declared.

"Oh, he does," another student protested. "In fact—"

This, too, was lost under someone's insistence on not spoiling the game, as well as the wizard's next question.

"Oh, come now, you are not afraid, are you, Grindelwald?"

With this, Pierre gave Gellert a positively challenging look. The latter considered him, and then his face morphed into his characteristic cocky smile.

"Not at all. But you, Pierre, might yet get embarrassed."

"Let's find out, shall we? Ready to be taught how it's done, Grindelwald?"

"Fine," came a huffy sigh.

It was happening. The youngsters around them were either cheering or whispering between them as they watched on.

Unhurriedly, Pierre drifted closer, making sure to stroke Gellert's cheek while the blond wizard calmly gazed back at him, as if to say _challenge accepted_. Then Pierre leaned in, and at a very calculated moment, Gellert turned his face just a few inches to a side, so the other boy's lips landed on his cheek.

"Ew, wet," he complained. "Not sure why you thought it would be magical, Pierre."

All the breaths that had been held suddenly exploded in wild shrieks of laughter. Pierre's cheeks turned pink.

Albus could not help it; he was chuckling too. The way Gellert had got around the task was worthy of applause. Taking a closer look at Pierre, though, he saw carefully veiled annoyance. The boy had been _hoping_ for that kiss.

"Don't worry, Pierre," a beautiful Veela witch spoke up, "you wouldn't be the first one to get cock-teased by dear Gellert."

If anything, the laughter grew louder at her remark. Ignoring Pierre and his embarrassment completely, Gellert turned towards her.

"You know, sweetheart, _you_ were the one to turn _me_ down, not the other way around, so—"

Clearly, this would have grown into banter between the two of them if another student had not called everyone's attention back to the game.

The memory blurred briefly, and Albus understood Gellert was speeding it up. When the vision became sharp again, he saw the same party, only a little later. Young Gellert looked considerably more intoxicated than before.

"Alles gut bei dir?" one of the boys asked, amused.

"Glaub' schon," the blond wizard replied.

His friend laughed before patting him good-naturedly on the back. "Geh mal an die frische Luft."

Albus did not need translation to understand the piece of advice, for Gellert took his coat and went out to clear his head. It was very cold outside, the heaps of snow tall and crunchy.

The pub lay at the outskirts of a coastal village, and one look around left Albus breathless. Snow-covered mountains towered all around and behind them, so imposing from where he contemplated them that it was impossible to see the white-capped peaks. It was as though they blended into the night sky. But the scenery before his eyes was no less picturesque. A lake, vast and gleaming in the light of the torches, spread out in front of them, home to dozens of ships. Ships of all shapes and sizes—there were no two of them alike. If he had been at liberty of strolling in this village, Albus knew he would have spent hours inspecting the ships alone. The sound of steps, however, brought his attention back to the wizard the memory belonged to.

Gellert had staggered a little; his breaths were coming out in vapour as he placed a palm on his forehead, as if to dispel his lightheadedness. The Englishman could not help but note that someone from the group ought to have offered to escort him. It was careless of them to leave him to his devices in such a state.

"Don't stay too long out here," a voice rang out suddenly. "You might freeze."

"Pierre?" Gellert frowned. "You are still here? I thought you'd already left."

"I was about to," the wizard admitted. "Too much German—it hurts my ears."

Gellert laughed. "Yes, because Dutch is so much better; doesn't hurt the hearing at all."

"Touché," Pierre smiled. "But even so, you really should go, Gellert. Let me guess—too much Cauldron Spirit?"

The blond wizard nodded. "No idea how I got carried away; it usually doesn't happen."

"Should I help you get back to your dormitory?"

At this, Gellert threw his head back and laughed. "Nice try, but I'm not _that_ drunk."

For a few seconds, a dark expression came over Pierre's face, but it was gone just as quickly. Gellert never noticed.

"Fine, go on then. But no need to be rude, Grindelwald."

The exchange was over. Somewhat incoherently, Gellert bid the other wizard a good night and went towards the Apparition point.

At this point, all cheer had left Albus, who had stiffened at the words _No idea how I got carried away; it usually doesn't happen_. He did not like the sound of this at all. His eyes lingered on Pierre's indolent grey eyes, and it seemed to him that the Dutch boy was assessing Gellert in a calculating fashion, though it could be paranoia on his part. Had there truly been a way for Pierre to get Gellert drunk on purpose? Could he have achieved this with the other students and the staff around? Surely not; not unless he had… an accomplice.

Just when he reached this conclusion, he saw something that disturbed him even more. As Gellert walked away a certain distance, Pierre took out his wand and cast the Disillusionment Spell on himself, disappearing from view. All that could be seen of him now were the footsteps he was leaving on the snow, and it was too dark for anyone to pay attention. In fact, Gellert would probably not have noticed his pursuer even if the latter had been visible. His stomach nearly in his throat and his hand twitching to grab his wand, Albus followed.

Another pang of nervousness occurred when Gellert reached the Apparition point. It seemed to be the perfect moment for Pierre to grab him, but it did not happen. To his credit, Gellert stayed balanced as he turned on the spot, and, propelled by the memory, Albus found himself transported into a long hallway lined with wood and a long, fluffy carpet.

Undoing his coat halfway to his door, Gellert tapped the lock with his wand, and it opened on his dormitory. He did not close it straight away, pausing instead to hang his coat and shawl. It took only an instant, but it was enough. Albus saw the door open a few inches wider, and a swish of air passed him stealthily.

He was afraid he knew where this was heading. He barely dared to breathe.

Shrugging off his overcoat, Gellert shuffled to the washing room, closing the door almost all the way. There were two beds in the large and cosy bedroom—which, upon a closer look, allowed just as magnificent a view as the dining hall, except Albus was in no spirit to appreciate it right now—and Gellert's bed could easily be recognised by the presence of his possessions around it. The other bed was neatly made, and Albus wondered whether his roommate was away for the holidays.

He turned around to check where the intruder was but could not see him; the coward was still under the Disillusionment Charm. A few minutes later, Gellert came out, his face dripping with cold water. He looked somewhat invigorated after freshening up, and his step was steadier. Rolling his neck from side to side, he approached the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt before leaning down to place his wand on the bedside table.

The second he took it out, a Disarming Spell hit him with full force. The next instant, the invisible wizard lunged at him, overpowering him. It was only after a slightly groaning Gellert was flat on his back, his wrists pinned, that Pierre lifted the Charm off himself.

"Easy, I don't want to bruise you."

"Pierre?" Gellert's voice was incredulous. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You invited me," the other wizard stated. "Had you been just a little nicer to me back there, I wouldn't have needed to resort to this."

"How did you get in?"

"I followed you."

"Coward."

"You look pretty when you're angry."

Both were breathing heavily, and the blond wizard was trying to struggle, but being intoxicated, he was unable to throw the other boy off. Besides, the position he was in had been specifically designed to keep the victim pinned down.

"I just want to talk," Pierre declared. "It's not like we get to do that often. Pretty boy that you are, you are always surrounded by admirers..."

"What do you want, Pierre?" Gellert growled. "Get to the point."

The Dutch wizard sighed and concentrated. Ropes emerged out of thin air, binding Gellert. Albus did not think he had ever been angrier with anyone in his life.

Gellert had no time to recover from the surprise: taking advantage of his now open mouth, Pierre pulled him into a deep kiss—if it could be called such, so quick and invasive it was, though calculating too as far as the surprise element went.

"There—now we're even," the Dutch wizard commented upon withdrawing.

For a second, there was nothing but pure confusion. Perhaps it had been escalating rather quickly for inebriated Gellert to catch up in time. But Pierre was speaking again.

"I've been watching you for a while now, in the showers. You have quite a remarkable physique and a very beautiful complexion: fair but with a little warm undertone. I like that."

He was stroking the blond wizard's locks as he talked, fixing him with an almost hungry look.

"Pierre?" Gellert uttered. "Perhaps I am too drunk, but… don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, him." Pierre shrugged. "It got a little boring. I am more curious about you. Tell me, you are not one to share that stupid Muggle prejudice, are you? I've been paying attention, you know; I see the way you campaign. I could help you; you know I could."

Gellert tried to shift. "Right now, you are suffocating me."

"Don't change the topic," Pierre pressed on. "I want to know. I've been speaking to the girls, you see: they swear you're a gentle, attentive lover. I don't care about all that; if anything, I love a good tryst. For the life of me, I cannot understand how you can even stand witches. They take forever to get excited, from what I've seen, and then they just _lie_ there, not doing anything but moaning like wounded animals. Where you see the appeal is simply beyond me. It's much different between wizards, you know..."

To Pierre's annoyance, Gellert started laughing, quite genuinely so. In fact, once the laughter broke loose from his chest, it was difficult to stop, for the sheer absurdity of the situation called for it.

"You broke into my room and tied me up to talk about _girls_ ," the blond wizard managed.

This reaction was unwelcome, to say the least

"Shut up!" Pierre commanded.

When Gellert did not, the Dutch wizard leaned in and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcibly tilting his head to one side.

"All I wanted was just a little bit of your attention," he hissed. "But no, you are used to walking over everyone's heads, aren't you, Grindelwald? A big mistake—don't forget who I am."

Those words effectively erased all trace of humour on younger Gellert's face. Despite himself, Albus wanted to glance at present-day Gellert, who was sharing his memory with him, and his lapse in concentration almost expelled him from the other young man's mind. Before it could happen, though, the Dutchman's voice claimed his attention.

"Yet I still like you, Gellert, all this notwithstanding. Maybe it's because we are alike; maybe it is just fascination. I don't know…"

Having said that, he took advantage of their proximity. When he had forced the blond wizard's head to the side, it was to menacingly whisper in his ear, to intimidate; now that he thought about it, however, he realised such a position was suitable for more than that. Leaning in, he nibbled on Gellert's earlobe and, unable to help himself, started running passionate kisses along his jawline. At the same time, his hand forced Gellert's thighs more apart. The insinuation was clear.

The German wizard had not sucked in a breath nor manifested any other sign of panic, which would have been expected under such circumstances. But his eyes, which now faced the wall, were fully alert in spite of the intoxication. He was thinking clearly.

"Pierre?" he uttered, his voice now devoid of its usual cockiness.

The Dutchman paused at this.

"How did you imagine it between the two of us? Tell me."

Now it was Pierre's turn to laugh, and his hold on the other boy's hair slackened.

"Oh, Gellert, you're _good_. Merlin, this is turning out better than I thought."

Gellert gazed back at him, mustering his most flirtatious look yet.

"So?" he insisted. "Not like this, I hope."

"No, Gellert, not like this. I do like my partners willing; it's much better than buggering the equivalent of a warm corpse. But… I do like it a little rough. It wouldn't deter you, would it?"

"Oh, Pierre, it wouldn't be you if it weren't rough. But how rough, hmm?"

For the second time, Pierre laughed, quite genuinely so.

"This is what I like about you, Gellert—once those admirers of yours are out of the frame, there is no need to pretend. Maybe that's your appeal, who knows… Only, I know what you're doing; I've observed you long enough. Still, I meant what I said before: I like you. And just to prove how much, I'll let you determine the pace." He paused. "I can't believe I just said that; usually, it is not my way. But maybe you _are_ the one. I could teach you so much, you know… even using whips. A little pain is enticing. I understand it can be a little uncomfortable at first, especially if you are used to witches, but you don't have to worry; I will respect your boundaries. In fact, I am willing to allow _you_ to be in control. In return, all I want is a token of your gratitude. It is not much to ask for, is it? "

Calmly, Gellert considered him. "Pierre, remove the ropes; we have no need for them."

The other wizard hesitated.

"I won't hex you, I promise."

The wand finally rose to oblige, but Albus did not see what followed next. Instead, he felt himself pulled out of the memory and landed in the present day. He could not help but cast his lover an intent glance, as if to ascertain he was all right. His hands were itching to Curse Pierre—or even ditch the wand and simply punch him in the face.

"Nothing happened then," Gellert assured him urgently, seeing the look on his face. "I threw him out of my room the moment the ropes were gone."

"Thank Merlin he didn't succeed in hurting you any further," Albus muttered.

He was grateful that Gellert had been able to talk his way out of what had been an extremely precarious situation. It was disturbing to think of: in his companion's own words, Durmstrang did not tolerate violence between students, yet those influential purebloods acted as though they were beyond the reach of the law. Convinced of their impunity, they resorted to revenge as though it were a perfectly correct and natural reaction to refusal of any kind. If they saw their desires thwarted, they took it as a personal insult. It was a paradox—the school did its best to establish policies for everyone's protection, yet in the end, everybody did what they chose to do as long as they could get away with it.

In general, wizarding communities often took over the traditions of the local Muggle societies; it was the case in England, as it was in France, Italy or anywhere else. But the wizarding elite had always been a class onto itself, bowing to no customs but their own. This, perhaps, was the reason Durmstrang was so different from Hogwarts or Beauxbatons: the international environment in which only the rich and the powerful partook combined into a blend that could be found nowhere else. As a result, the school's graduates were allowed to become more open-minded, bolder, more knowledgeable about the world, and able to grow up without the restraints imposed by Muggle social norms.

From this point of view, it was easier to understand why the Bulgarian witch, born and bred in a country where Muggle women enjoyed less liberties due to its recent Ottoman heritage—some of which had inevitably rubbed off on wizards' mentality—had found Durmstrang liberating, getting attached to a respectful and charismatic Gellert, who made a point of making everyone feel valued. But just like Pierre, who had been determined to get his own way, she had reacted to rejection with revenge.

What alarmed Albus most of all was the fact that Gellert was surrounded by such people. As he had said, they were the future, and their radicalism and sense of impunity had been underestimated for far too long. Albus adored the blond wizard, but that was no reason to avoid the truth, quite the opposite: Gellert _was_ a Dark wizard, and while his intentions came from the heart and there was much good in him, there was darkness too. Darkness that _would_ be kindled and exploited by the powerful wizards he considered his associates. Dieter, a pure and kind person if ever there was one, was one of the rare exceptions among them, and yet, Gellert never listened to him any more. Since the loss of his parents, he had not been listening to anyone.

This consideration confirmed something that Albus had been suspecting all along without being able to fully formulate it. Leaving with Gellert was not only his wish, born out of the desire to be together; it was a necessity too, for he was the only person left who could protect the German wizard, prevent him from committing any further mistakes and ascertain that he did not give in to the pull of Darkness.

And as soon as this realisation settled in his chest, he felt himself become calmer, happier, focused. It was meant to be.

"I'm happy that you stayed safe," he said quietly. "I only wish… you hadn't needed to endure their attacks. And Ignat…" He paused, thinking of the tragic climax of those conflicts. "Is it something you can tell me about?"

With a groan, Gellert briefly covered his face with his hands, as if both tired and frustrated.

"He was so incredibly _stupid_ , you know… I tried the diplomatic approach multiple times, I swear I did, but it was all for naught. He was the younger brother of the two: very doted on, very spoiled, used to having his every wish granted upon a snap of his fingers. I went to Bulgaria last summer under the pretence of being a travelling writer. I had to stay mainly at Muggle places for fear of standing out too much. I studied Ignat's family. Long story short, they are not the nicest wizards you will ever meet—especially Ignat's brother. Negotiating with him is useless, particularly at this stage; there will be bloodshed, and one of us will die. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The tension between us had been building for a while. When I started seeing Zhivka, it was a well-guarded secret for both of our sakes. But when it ended, she knew where to run, so Ignat, fool as he was, decided to… ah, avenge her and remove me from his path while at it. Except he was too stupid even for that, always having relied on his big bother to do his dirty work for him."

Unable to stop another heavy sigh, Gellert looked up, resolute.

"I'd better show you."

With a nod, Albus shifted closer.

The last memory showed the Durmstrang castle from a peculiar angle: a view from below, halfway down the hill between the back entrance and the enclosed portion of the azure lake. Seen from below, the castle appeared enormous, and Albus could not help but admire it for a few seconds. Then he heard noise on the gravel, and he spun around. It was Gellert coming up the path, his hair slightly weighed with water, the drops of which also glistened on his face. He looked relaxed and in a rather good mood, and this worried Albus even more, for he had seen what the blond wizard had not: the latter was walking right into an ambush. Ignat was there, hiding behind a boulder, his wand at the ready. He was waiting for Gellert to come closer. Albus itched to cry out a warning, but he knew that within a memory, it was futile.

Gellert was a yard away from the boulder when it happened. Springing aside, his eyes gleaming with murderous glee, Ignat slashed the air with his wand, a Slavic incantation on his lips. He had caught Gellert utterly off-guard. Before the latter could make a grab for his wand, he found himself lifted a few inches off the ground, as though two inhumanly strong hands had grabbed him around the throat. His back arched, twitching, and his hands fought to free him of the Strangling Curse, but there was no dislodging the magic without a wand.

It was the most terrible sight Albus could have imagined—so much so that he found himself fisting his own hair, as if wanting to tear it out from the fear. But what he considered dreadful, Ignat seemed to be thoroughly enjoying. So much, in fact, that in his admiration of his handiwork, his wand hand relaxed ever so slightly. It was almost as though he were trying to forever etch that memory in his mind—maybe even to show it to the others later. But that instant was enough. The Curse had barely loosened its hold on its victim when Gellert's practiced hand dove to his pocket and produced his wand. A second was all it took. How he could have focused quickly enough on a suitable spell, let alone cast it non-verbally in such a position, Albus could only guess and admire. His hand gave one precise flick, and a stream of silver light shot towards Ignat, propelling him backwards. He did not even have the time to yell. With one look of confusion, he fell under the wave of magic, landing on the gravel path. But his head... there was a sickening crunch as it hit the sharp stones on the side of the path.

Gruesome purple choke marks adorned Gellert's throat, but he appeared otherwise in control, aside from the wide-eyed expression of shock on his face. Crouching a few steps away, one hand instinctively soothing his throat, he stared at the body, his wand still raised. And Ignat stared at the sky, his black eyes never to close again, surprise and confusion his last expression. Thick blood was oozing out of the back of his skull, darkening the black rocks. Just as Albus tore his numb eyes away from him, he heard new footsteps and turned rather jumpily. But it was Dieter. His face reflected all the horror the situation warranted.

The return to reality was softer this time, as if they were floating. Albus looked into Gellert's eyes, where he could see a pained, almost bitter expression. Their hands were still joined.

"You didn't kill him," he said earnestly. "You had but a split second to defend yourself. You did what every smart wizard would have done. The way he fell down was out of your control."

"Don't delude yourself, Albus; that is the last thing I'd want. I _would_ have killed him; my wand hand would not have hesitated for a moment. It was luck that I didn't."

Suddenly, Gellert broke free of Albus's touch, letting out a bitter, entirely unamused laugh.

"Do you know what the most ironic thing about all of this is?" He did not expect an answer to his question. "That it had to be something as _mundane_ , something as _trivial_ as a witch's revenge that got me kicked out. Almost shameful, really. All the rules I broke, all the Dark magic I researched—I even vandalised Durmstrang property whilst studying about the Hallows—and in the end, it was a petty revenge that proved to be my downfall."

Still laughing at the apparent irony, he collapsed onto a nearby chair, as if exhausted. And Albus understood. Gellert _was_ exhausted. He had endured months of running, of constant pressure and of looking over his shoulder, and all the while, Dieter would not cease reproaching him, which, despite his very valid reasons, remained unfair. Gellert's name and reputation were ruined; he would never receive his diploma, and his chance for accessing any Ministry—had he ever wished to bring about his reforms within the current government system—had been thwarted in its crib.

All he had left was hopelessness and the contacts he had established at Durmstrang: the very same wizards Albus had just glimpsed. But now that he was essentially a wanted wizard, would his allies take advantage of his situation? Or was his influence over them strong enough to prevent such an outcome? Had his efforts to secure his position among them truly yielded the desired effect? Gellert would soon find out either way.

But when he did, what then? Albus himself had watched him plunge himself into a research on the Deathly Hallows as though they were his only salvation. The reason was simple: there was fear. Dieter and Albus might have succeeded in talking him out of the endeavour, but this was less their merit and more Gellert's own understanding of what kind of wizard he wished to be. Only, would this conviction last once he was all but pushed into the path of Darkness, lawlessness and violence?

Quietly, Albus came closer to sit down by his side, cautious to provide support but to not invade. At last, Gellert met his gaze, and Albus spoke gently.

"Would you like to see some of my own memories?"

The blond wizard nodded before pausing. "Are you sure?"

After all, Albus had not asked him for an Oath in return, nor for the permission to use the Memory Charm on him, should it be necessary. Consequently, his offer was proof of immense trust.

"Quite sure."

Taking Gellert's hands in his, Albus opened his mind, lowering all mental barriers. They knew each other so well now. And more certain than ever, he knew he would go with Gellert and share all of his burdens and challenges. He had never craved comfort or fame or wealth, only love. He would rather spend a lifetime of worry and struggle by Gellert's side than years of comfort without him.

 

**AN:** Okay, guys, so this chapter (which I am, admittedly, quite nervous about) had to be split in two because it was otherwise very long. Now, the question of nature vs nurture is an interesting one. Had Bathilda taken the troubled teenager in back then, would he have turned out different? Who knows? And then, how many elitist views has he overtaken at this point? Also unclear.

It may seem that the "others" at Durmstrang were even worse, but then again, it is obvious that Gellert is used to abandoning people when he's done with them. Nothing is black and white.

The beautiful artwork displayed in this chapter,  _A Memory of Durmstrang_ , was created by the amazing constan-lerois, whose work can be found on Deviant Art. 


	19. XIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

The Weaver Orb suite dissolved once again, but while, in Gellert's memories, it had given way to spectacular sights, this particular recollection transported the blond wizard into a very modest yet very English place: a small sitting room. It was rather cluttered and not particularly cosy, but it was clean and lined with cream-coloured wallpaper. Thick carpets covered the floor, and the furniture was somewhat worn, unfashionable. A couch stood near the window, and on it, a ten-year-old Albus huddled next to a wizard of around fifty years of age, who resembled him greatly. It had to be his father. They were leafing through Albus's new textbooks while the boy's brand new wand reposed on top of a pile of parchment.

"Ah, yes, Ancient Runes," Percival smiled. "They're not difficult. It's a good option to take in your third year. There will be plenty of time to decide, of course. The other options include Muggle Studies, Divination, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. The last one was my favourite, to be honest, but everyone said Arithmancy was the most serious option—and the most difficult one."

The door opened, and a young woman came in, followed by a child of about eight—a young Aberforth. She looked nothing like the rest of the family. Tall and slim, she had olive skin and jet-black hair that she wore in a tight bun. This austerity was reflected in her modest dress. Her eyes were just as black as her hair, and there was something statuesque about her majestic features, not unlike an old Native American carving. Should she have smiled, she would have indeed appeared beautiful. As it was, however, her eyes were cold and her visage impassive, as though emotions had long stopped reaching her face. She threw one blank look at her husband and son, absorbed as they were in their moment of affection, and proceeded towards the long table at the other end of the room. With a flick of her wand, plates floated out of the cupboard, and Aberforth stepped in to lay down cutlery without being prompted.

"Ariana should be called inside," she uttered in a voice as vacant as her face.

"I'll get her," Percival said, and with one last clap on Albus's shoulder, he heaved himself up and walked out of the house.

Left alone, Albus kept perusing his book, though his fingers tensed a little, as though he were uncomfortable at the idea of looking up. Silence stretched, yet the adult wizard was not coming back. It was becoming more and more obvious something was wrong. Despite her display of indifference, Kendra glanced towards the front door, as if wondering why he was taking so long.

Then, with one brusque motion, the door flew open, and Percival looked in for just long enough to say, "She is not there. I'm going to get Barnes, and we'll look for her together. Stay inside."

He disappeared, leaving the family perplexed. Albus gaped, his book loose in his hands. Wide-eyed, Aberforth had paused in his task. Kendra said nothing; it took her seconds, in fact, to regain her composure—not that she had lost it in the first place.

The memory filled with fog, as if sped up, and Percival was back, followed by a shorter, bespectacled wizard, presumably Barnes. They had found her. Little Ariana was curled in her father's arms, her dress torn, her curls spattered with dirt and in disarray. Her blue eyes were dilated in shock, and she was shivering like a leaf.

"Out of here," Percival ordered to the boys.

Aberforth did not react; he stared at his sister, horror etched on his face. When Albus grabbed his arm, he tried to resist, but the older boy succeeded in dragging him behind the door, which closed on the adults converging on the shivering girl.

This merged with the following memory, which appeared to have taken place that same day, or rather that evening, for the house was dark. Gellert saw Albus hide in the shadows next to the door to the sitting room, which he had managed to slide ajar. His parents' voices were audible, and their silhouettes could be seen through the crack. Percival was pacing, his demeanour wild while Kendra, more statue-like than ever, remained rooted to the spot.

"... her magical core broken, the Healer said," the wizard fulminated, his voice bursting with emotion. "There is no healing it. He says the best we can hope for is St. Mungo's. Where they'll probably keep her for life, testing their spells on her. Her magic, her growth… she will never be the same again."

There was a pause, and then a crashing noise tore through the night, as though he had thrown something against the wall.

"I see," came Kendra's steady answer.

"And the Aurors will do nothing to those wastes of space. Not a thing. As if she didn't matter."

More clatter. Kendra eyed him indolently.

"I will do it. I will find them, and I will make them regret they were ever born."

"All you'll achieve is landing in Azkaban." The witch sounded impatient with his outburst.

At this, he exploded. "What's wrong with you, woman? Don't you care? It is your own daughter! How can you be so indifferent?"

"Indifferent?" There was a pause, and then the words came out, passion seeping into her usually stony voice. "Were I indifferent, I would never have stayed after what you did. Not when I regret leaving my home every day. I believed your pledges and promises. I believed you when you said I would be met without injustice or bigotry, that my scholarly ideas would be accepted and applauded in England. Instead, you made me your prisoner when I was all but a child, Percival. Foolish enough to trust you. And now you dare accuse me of being indifferent? There is nothing to be done about Ariana. Your hysteria is unbecoming."

There was no response. Nothing besides hurried footsteps and the front door being thrown open. Percival had stormed out. With a shaky intake of breath, young Albus turned and saw his brother at the foot of the stairs, listening as well. Their eyes met, but neither said a word.

The scene refocused on the sitting room, which was now bathed in sunlight. It could be the next day, or perhaps several days later. Albus sat at the little desk by the window, taking notes from one of his new textbooks, though judging by the way his eyes kept darting to the ceiling and then towards the window, his mind was preoccupied. Aberforth was not there; he, presumably, was keeping watch in his sister's room while Kendra was busy in the kitchen. Suddenly, a forceful knock came, and Albus's head snapped towards the front door. He appeared to have been on tenterhooks for hours. The reason was easy to understand, for he had witnessed his father's promise to make the boys pay for what they had done to Ariana. Something that was bound to put him in danger.

Kendra came out, wiping her hands on her apron. Abandoning his work, Albus followed, looking as though he barely knew what he was doing. His legs carried him to the door, his worries amplifying with every moment. A wizard and a witch in official robes awaited them outside, their faces serious.

"Mrs Dumbledore?" the official asked.

She nodded, not a trace of surprise perceptible in her expression.

"We would like to speak to you on a matter of the gravest importance."

Without another word, she stepped outside, giving Albus a look that clearly told him to stay in. The door snapped shut on him. Blanching, he squeezed the doorknob, desperately trying to hear something through the wood. Behind him, Aberforth slowly came downstairs; the knock had not escaped his notice.

"What's going on?" he asked uncertainly.

He clearly was worried too, though not as much as Albus. Perhaps he was doing a better job of hiding it.

"The officials," was all Albus could murmur.

They waited.

It took a few minutes for Kendra to come back. Her hands were stained with ink, as though she had been asked to sign something. She nearly collided with Albus, but for once, she did not tell him off. Instead, she summoned her most stoic voice.

"Your father has been arrested by the Ministry," she announced. "He used an Unforgivable Curse on Muggle boys. They have taken him to Azkaban to await trial, at which he is certain to be sentenced."

This was all. Albus stared at her, paler than the wallpaper. His brother said nothing either, but after a moment of stillness, he came forward and put his arms around Kendra, as if trying to console her. She embraced him back, her gesture the closest thing to affection she had yet been seen to bestow.

Albus could not take it any more. Turning his back on them, he half-walked, half-ran upstairs, though tears had started flowing before he reached his room.

If things were bad at this point, they went even more downhill in the next memory. It was breakfast time, and Ariana had been led downstairs to sit with the others. The two boys picked at their food, Aberforth being the more successful of the two at pretending everything was all right. Kendra was not eating; she was trying instead to feed Ariana, who seemed utterly uninterested in food. Her lack of cooperation was provoking increasing impatience in her mother.

"Open your mouth," Kendra instructed for the tenth time, her voice exasperated. "Don't make me repeat myself. Don't turn away! You need to eat."

Cradling herself, Ariana looked towards the window, her mouth trembling but still shut. She appeared to have eaten only a few spoonfuls of porridge. Worn out, Kendra raised her voice at last, causing all of them to jump. Albus threw his napkin down, having had enough.

"Stop it!" he snapped. "Just leave her alone."

"Do you want to do it yourself then?" she retorted, glad for a pretext to relieve her frustration on someone else.

"Don't torment her if she doesn't want to eat!"

"Don't you dare," his brother started, but he was forced to halt.

Something happened at that moment: something none of them had ever witnessed before. The table at which they sat suddenly shook, as though an invisible Poltergeist had taken hold of it, and the dishes rattled, drinks spilling and cutlery clanking as it fell on the floor. They all froze, fearful, alert.

"Ari?" Aberforth asked in a very different voice from his earlier snarl.

The girl's shoulders were shaking, and she was hugging herself, but her self-control appeared gone. There was an instant of silence, except it was not silent at all: it was magic, unleashed and uncontrolled, pouring out of her frail body, pressing on them, its indescribable sound nearly puncturing their ear-drums with its intensity, as though it meant to crush them. And then, in a discharge that was as sudden as it was violent, the candle chandelier burst from the ceiling and hurtled down. Had Kendra failed to flick her wand in time, it would have fallen right where she was sitting, causing a possibly lethal injury. For a few seconds, none of them could speak. But the danger had passed. The intense discharge of magic had drained Ariana of force, and she sagged in her seat, barely conscious. Her brothers converged on her while Kendra gazed on, her eyes wide.

When the memory dissipated, a very unexpected image appeared: it was no longer the Dumbledores' home but an immense dining hall. Its ceiling was high and enchanted to show the night sky. Four long tables for the different Hogwarts Houses dominated the space under an expanse of floating candles, and a fifth table, erected for the staff, stood at the very end of the hall. In front of it, a stool bearing the Sorting Hat had been placed so that the first years could be assigned to their new Houses. One by one, they came forth as their names were called.

Albus was among those children; his eyes were fixed on the Hat, though there was preoccupation in his features, and he appeared not to notice the magnificence of the place.

"Elphias Doge," the professor called, and a short boy with a greenish complexion and pockmarks on his face approached, looking shy and uncomfortable to be in spotlight.

"Gryffindor," the Hat declared a few seconds after touching his hair.

The table in question clapped, and the boy walked off to find himself an available seat.

"Albus Dumbledore," the teacher said next.

Ignoring the whispers that had arisen at the sound of his name, Albus stepped forward. Everyone already appeared to know he was the son of the criminal who had been freshly sent to Azkaban. With an intake of breath, he took the Hat and put it on.

Nothing happened for a moment. It was not unusual for the Hat to take a while to decide, but it was taking very long, too long, and a few raised eyebrows were exchanged. Albus's eyes were closed and his brows furrowed as he whispered to himself. Then, at long last, the Hat made its decision.

"Gryffindor!"

The tension was ruptured by applause, and with a look of relief, Albus handed the Hat to the teacher and walked towards the furthest table. He did not notice sitting down next to the pockmarked boy, but the latter did. Everyone else seemed to want to steer clear of him. While his Dragon pox was clearly no longer contagious—if it had been, he would not have been admitted to Hogwarts—his appearance did not endear him to the other students.

"Where did the Hat want to send you?" he asked.

Jerking out of his thoughts, Albus glanced at him without a trace of revulsion.

"Anywhere except Gryffindor," he admitted with a small smile.

The boy laughed. "Why did you want to go to Gryffindor?"

"It's where my father went," Albus explained.

The boy nodded in understanding. "I'm Elphias. Elphias Doge."

"Albus. Nice to meet you."

The bright candle light was extinguished in a puff of vapour, and Gellert found himself looking into grown Albus's sky-blue eyes inside their suite, both of them still seated in chairs, their hands joined. The English wizard needed a few minutes to regain his strength. His gaze was timid, as though he wondered what Gellert made of his previous life.

"It takes a toll, doesn't it?" the blond wizard asked sympathetically. "Maybe, one day, you could invent something that will make the whole experience easier—after all, Legilimency is used as a means of torture for a reason."

This made Albus chuckle despite himself. "I reckon we will both sleep as deeply as infants tonight. It is an idea, though. The discomfort comes from the presence inside your mind: the intrusion. If the process could somehow be made external..." He thought for a few seconds and then decided to look into it another time. "We'll have occasions to work together on many things. After all, we both have a portion of Ravenclaw inside us."

"Speaking of..." Gellert frowned. "Your friend was quite right: the Sorting Hat took a while with you. Where did you really want to go?"

"I told Elphias the truth: I asked the Hat to send me to Gryffindor," Albus confessed. "My father had gone there, and his father before him. I knew it would make him proud, and I wanted to bring him at least some joy. But the Hat didn't agree. The core traits of Gryffindor include courage, nobility of character, devotion to principles, pride... The Hat said my core traits were loyalty, hard work and devotion to the people I love rather than principles. Those are Hufflepuff qualities. I insisted, begging the Hat to send me to Gryffindor regardless. It then offered sending me to Ravenclaw, the House of academics and the studious. Again, I insisted, and it jested it would send me to Slytherin for my disregard of the rules. But in the end, it gave in."

"Oh, I wouldn't say you aren't courageous," came a soft comment. "What you did after Olivia's Ball was bold."

Blushing slightly, Albus lowered his eyes, pressing Gellert's hand in his own. That night was forever etched in his memory.

"I was convinced it was the end... Yet you didn't reject me. Instead, you made me the happiest of men."

Gellert looked at him carefully. The English wizard meant what he had said, and it was _this_ that truly disarmed him: the purity of Albus's feelings. And yet, the responsible decision would have been not inviting him in on the Summer Solstice night.

Albus came from a very different environment from his own: a rather miserable one, and not even in terms of lacking gold. If anything, even Dieter's modest dwelling in Bremen had to have been better.

_How had he never really noticed this?_ He had seen, of course, that the Dumbledores' house was not among the best in the village. Yet somehow, it had never shown. He now realised it was the family that made the main difference.

He himself came from a very different home, a very harmonious one, and had never had to worry about gold. Even after the loss of his parents, he had rarely felt any different from any of his classmates. Granted, unlike them, he had to be financially responsible, now that his father was gone, but he still had been bred in the same social circles, even if some would consider him almost impoverished when compared to certain other Durmstrang students.

But Albus, it appeared, had never truly fit in, not even within his own family. His father, as Gellert had seen, was perhaps the only person who had supported him, yet even this support seemed to be nothing more than Percival Dumbledore's way of living out his dreams through his eldest son. As for his mother… Kendra had made a choice, and that choice bore Aberforth's name, not Albus's.

Albus had always been acutely lonely.

"Our mothers were the complete opposites of each other, weren't they?" Gellert asked, changing the topic a little.

"That's true," Albus said thoughtfully. "Your mother was gentle, delicate, happy to be with you and your father. My mother was brittle, and her dreams... I don't believe they had involved family." He sighed. "Even their appearances were opposite."

Gellert nodded without commenting any further. It was understood.

"Have you remained friendly with that wizard?"

"I have. Elphias lives in the village as well, but he is still abroad. I will show you more... He is a very good, faithful friend." Albus pondered on the best way to formulate his thought. "Unlike many others, he never was deterred by the rumours of my father's arrest. If anything, he always encouraged me. But this also meant that he would never question the appearances... as to why I was so careful with my studies or couldn't spend much time with him during summer holidays, let alone invite him. It's as if he believed my mask to be my true face, so to speak."

"Then you are not very close?" Gellert suggested with a small frown.

Truth be told, he had assumed that wizard could have been to Albus what Dieter was to him. It made sense, though, that the bond he shared with Dieter was stronger than what Albus appeared to share with the boy named Elphias.

"Perhaps not. If so, it is my fault. I've never opened myself to him as I have to you and Dieter."

The idea made Albus pause in wonder as to why he had never trusted Elphias enough to confide in him, though he had believed them to be true friends. Was it because he had needed to meet Gellert and Dieter to realise what true affection was? It was difficult to untangle.

"It is all right, you know," Gellert assured him. "I think I even understand. Forgive me for saying so, but your home life doesn't seem to have been happy. Therefore, once at school, you created a new identity of sorts: one of a brilliant student. It is only natural that you wanted to be known for this rather than for your family reputation… It is different at Durmstrang only because there is no means of hiding: we all come from more or less similar social circles. Even so, I am pretty sure quite a number of my friends have secrets they would have liked to leave behind the golden gates of their mansions. Will you show me more?"

Albus smiled and nodded, focusing on the task. He had nothing to hide from the wizard he loved.

When the new setting materialised around him, Gellert realised he was in Albus's current home. Sometime during that year, Kendra had moved her children to Godric's Hollow. No doubt was it because staying in a Muggle village would have been too risky when Ariana's magical core had become this unpredictable.

The little girl appeared to be doing better, but she now possessed the pallor of those who never saw sunlight. Albus was watching her in some concern while she played with her dolls. After ten months of separation, he was feeling distinctly out of place in their family. Ten months during which his mother and his little brother had bonded, sharing the household tasks between them. For whatever reason, Aberforth did not mind rubbing it in his face when Albus attempted to approach Ariana.

"Don't startle her. Don't come from that side. You're doing it wrong. You're not even trying."

It was almost as though Kendra had subtly placed Aberforth in their father's position, and Albus's face made it clear just how much it irked him. He said nothing, but a few moments in the awkward atmosphere of home appeared to be enough. He grabbed a book and walked out, snapping the door shut behind him. Once outside, he made sure to sit down as far as possible from the house and opened his book.

He did not see a younger Bathilda Bagshot peering at him as she tied a letter to an owl's leg. As soon as the bird took flight, she came closer, looking intrigued.

"Would you be young Albus?" she asked.

He glanced up and got to his feet in a hurry. "Yes. Forgive me, I didn't see you there."

"Fresh out of your first year at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm Madam Bagshot," she said, indicating the house across the street. "One of your neighbours. I imagine you haven't spent much time in the village yet. Your mother moved here around the end of August after all."

"That's right; I still haven't got used to this place," he admitted with an embarrassed smile. "How do you do, Madam Bagshot? It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, my boy. What have you got there?"

He showed her his book. "Oh, _Basics of Wizarding Numismatics_ by Carl Oswald."

"Ah, that old coot," she said dismissively. "Is that what the compulsory reading lists at Hogwarts have come to?"

"Oh, no, I… I borrowed it from Professor Knot for summer."

"You are interested in history, I take it?" she asked, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What do you think of it then?"

"I enjoy history," he nodded. "This book… to be frank, I don't like it very much. It's messy and… not very interesting. But I think it's still worth reading. We can't know what happened in history if we don't listen to all the sides."

"Hmm." For a moment, her expression was unreadable, but then it changed into an appreciative smile. "That's poppycock, my boy. History is about facts, and there are methods for establishing facts; nothing more, nothing less. But I like your reasoning." Her smile softened. "Would you like to read some _worthy_ history books? I am a historian, you see, and have something of a collection."

"Oh… I would like it very much," Albus admitted, blushing a little.

"Come on in then," she said, motioning towards her house. "I have some homemade cauldron cakes too."

Albus could not help throwing one furtive look over his shoulder to check if someone was watching. He did not hesitate, though, and the two of them walked off towards her house, chattering in an increasingly relaxed manner.

This summer image dissolved, and it kept dissolving. What emerged next was a stone chamber plunged in semi-darkness with nothing but two torches to provide dim light. There were sounds of the sea breaking against a ragged shore, and the smell was that of salty water and humidity. It was very cold, both for lack of heating and for the presence of two tall, monstrous Dementors floating on either side of the exit. In the middle of the chamber, there was a table with two chairs on either side. Albus was in one, clearly doing his best to suppress his shivers. Opposite him, his father sat with his hands magically shackled behind his back, clad in the prisoner's striped robe. He was pale and coughing, and his hair and beard had grown long. He was, nevertheless, smiling while Albus recounted his experience at Hogwarts.

"I always knew you'd be in Gryffindor," the older wizard said, coughing again. "All of our family went there. Courage and daring, that's what it takes. Except for your mother; she, I think, would have been Sorted to Ravenclaw, brains like hers."

"The Hat did bring it up," Albus admitted sheepishly. "But well, I'm happy in Gryffindor. I have a nice friend, Elphias Doge."

"Doge… Doge." Percival frowned, trying to remember. "Ministry purebloods, are they?"

"Yes. He's nice, really."

"Hmm." Whatever the older wizard was thinking of, he let it go and smiled again. "What about girls? Is there anyone you like?"

"To be honest, I don't really…" Albus looked at him, hesitated and then said, "I don't really have much time to think about it, father. Professor Dippet said if I kept up the good work, I could definitely become a prefect and even the Head Boy later on. I would really like to."

Percival chuckled. "I have no doubt you can do it, son. My Albus, the Head Boy. But you know, there is more in store than studies. You only have a few years to spend in that castle. Don't forget to enjoy them; they will be over more quickly than you think."

"I will, father."

There was an instant of silence. They listened to the sea waves splashing against the rocky tower.

"Do you know if… your mother and brother will be coming to look in?" Percival asked against his better judgment.

Albus looked down, struggling for words. "I… haven't really been home yet. I came straight from Hogwarts. But I'm sure they will. Aberforth told me repeatedly to send his love. And Ari is doing much better."

The older wizard nodded in understanding.

"I've made many mistakes," he sighed. "Lying to those I love is the one I regret the most. Be careful to avoid doing the same, Albus. When you have a family of your own…"

"Yes, father," the boy mumbled, unsure what else he ought to say in response.

But the next second, the metal door clanked open, and a guard appeared. "Time's up."

As if on cue, the Dementors glided forward. Percival straightened up, his eyes becoming more alert.

"Go, son. Steer clear of them. Give everyone my love—Ari, Aberforth, your mother. And study well. I'm so proud of you."

"I'll be back," Albus promised shakily. "I love you, father."

Reluctantly, he stood up and turned to leave, passing between the two Dementors. Unable to help it, he halted on his way and looked up at one of the monstrous creatures with a glare of revulsion. The Dementor turned its hooded head right towards him, interested, sensing the hateful emotion.

"Move along, boy!" the Azkaban worker barked.

With a jerky movement, Albus did. The barred door swung shut with a racket.

Gradually, the sound of the waves died down. Gellert watched grown Albus heave a sigh.

"I went to see father three times," the latter explained. "It's expensive, visiting family members in Azkaban. It's because it's on an island that is difficult to reach—they organise special transportation. When news came that father was dying, Aberforth and I went to see him together. He was later buried there." He paused, looking towards the window. "I've never encountered more detestable creatures than Dementors."

"They really are detestable," Gellert agreed, letting go of Albus's hand to squeeze his shoulder for comfort instead.

His gaze travelled to the bottle of Firewhisky he had ordered downstairs. He had expected sharing his memories would be painful and difficult, and true to his Oath, he had been ready to erase them from the Englishman's memory, should the latter decide he did not want to associate himself with a wanted wizard after all. And yet, it had turned out to be a surprisingly liberating experience that had allowed him a few reflections of his own.

The same could not be said of Albus. With every new recollection, the English wizard was becoming sadder, as if burying those memories had become so natural to him that bringing them to the surface was resulting in a mental trauma. In fact, his melancholy was positively heart-wrenching to witness.

"Have a drink, Albus," he offered.

Looking up, Albus accepted the shot despite himself.

"I'm sorry for all of this," he said, vaguely referring to the dark nature of his memories. He wished he could have shown Gellert something cheerful, something reinvigorating after the latter had spent so much of his energy and magic on Legilimency. "I have two more memories to show you. The last one is lighter."

"Don't apologise," the other wizard told him wisely. "You were not responsible for any of it."

They were quiet for a minute as Gellert helped himself to a drink as well, and then Albus gave him a sheepish smile.

"Now you know how I made Madam Bagshot's acquaintance. In a way, _she_ found me."

"I have been curious indeed. She seems to be quite fond of you." Gellert smiled back. "Before this summer, I had only seen her once, to be honest. Maybe twice, but I was too young to remember the first time. She refused the custody, as you already know, but I remember her visit from before father was taken away. I managed to get on her bad side the very first time we met, as father told me. Apparently, my accidental magic ruined her best dress, but I avoided getting punished by mimicking father. He would always call her _Auntie_ , you see, so it became natural for me to do the same."

Albus could imagine the way little Gellert had uttered this word, which would have thawed any lady's heart. He was not surprised to hear of his companion's accidental—and clearly powerful for a child—magic.

"Your grandmother was her sister, wasn't she? Did you know her?"

"Sadly, I didn't," Gellert admitted. "She died before I was born. She is buried alongside my grandfather near Hanover."

"And your other grandparents, on your mother's side of family?" Albus could not help but ask. He had never met his own grandparents.

"Died soon after my birth. I hardly remember them." Gellert sighed. "Auntie truly is the only relative I have left. Aside from that… Well, I've inherited three properties, and my mother's parents left me the nicest one of the three by far: a baroque-style mansion in a very good area. I hope to take you there one day when it all calms down."

"It will calm down," Albus promised gently.

Gellert's words had filled him with warmth and tenderness. Living together would be the height of happiness as far as he was concerned. Feeling stronger now, he met the other wizard's gaze again.

"Let me show you what happened later."

A year or so appeared to have passed between the last memory and the next. Gellert saw Albus in a classroom, alone with a teacher. The boy's face was frustrated as he practised a spell, and every failed attempt seemed to add to his impatience.

" _Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum!_ "

A little silver vapour puffed out of his wand, but nothing else happened. His face was becoming flushed with effort and concentration. The teacher watched him, concerned. After yet another attempt, Albus lowered his wand, closed his eyes and gave himself a moment to clear his thoughts.

" _Expecto Patronum._ "

A little more vapour came out, only to dissipate on the spot. Exhausted, he sat down on the nearest desk, his wand loose in his hand. The teacher approached to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Albus, a Non-Corporeal Patronus is enough to repel a Dementor. If you keep practising, it will become stronger and stronger."

"This won't even repel one Dementor," Albus objected in a despondent voice, "let alone several of them. I can't do it."

"You can," the teacher insisted, gripping his shoulder encouragingly. "You have the skill. You only need to choose a different memory, a stronger one."

"It's the best one I have."

Albus looked at his wand, bringing it closer to his eyes. His fingers gripped its two ends, flexing, as if wanting to snap it in two. But then he sighed and lowered it again.

"If I can't drive the Dementors away with happiness, what other methods are there?"

The teacher shook his head. "That is the only Light method."

"What are the Dark ones then? The Ministry must have its own way of communicating with them, making them obey."

"The Ministry's brand of magic is classified information. The Aurors are sworn to absolute secrecy where it's concerned."

The teenager said nothing. In the end, he turned to leave.

"Thank you for your help, Professor."

The last vision revealed the library at Hogwarts. It was a cosy and inviting place where the endless rows of books emitted a soft, barely perceptible whisper of magic. Albus from that memory was the one Gellert knew well: this was taking place only days before their first meeting. He looked more relaxed than in any previous recollection, and more excited as well. There was a large map in front of him, several volumes of books and a stack of notes. His friend, Elphias Doge, was present as well, flicking through a book on the magical beasts of Egypt.

"There!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "A reserve ten miles to the East from Abu Simbel. There is a small colony of Sphinxes."

"For the last time," Albus said without looking up from the map of Greece, though his voice was amused, "they are classified as XXXX beasts for a reason."

"Yes, but we don't have to actually meet them!" Elphias went on. "If we just get close enough, I can observe them and write a full report. It can make all the difference when I apply to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"They'll smell us from miles away," Albus chuckled.

"There is a spell to get around that," the other wizard declared before standing up. "Just a moment, I'll fetch that book."

The instant he was gone, a girl with a blue tie and a prefect badge slid into his seat. She had brown eyes and dark blond hair fixed in a bun.

"Hello, Albus."

He looked up, his face neutral, though Gellert knew him well enough to see that he had not been looking forward to this exchange. "Oh, hello, Elsie."

She drew in a breath, as if anticipating the conversation was going to be difficult but being still determined to try one last time.

"I was wondering… There is going to be a garden party at my uncle's villa in Sussex at the occasion of my graduation. It's in early July. There will be quite a few people, and I thought maybe… you'd be interested in coming."

Biting his lip, Albus put down the quill and tentatively reached for her hand.

"Elsie… thank you for the invite and for thinking of me. I have to be honest. If I were at liberty, I wouldn't hesitate for a second."

"But?" she pressed on, inviting him to explain his reticence.

He sighed. "For one thing, I'm not nearly good enough. You know what they associate my name with. Not to mention I am nearly broke. I have nothing of merit to offer a respectable lady."

"If it's about that, I don't car—"

"And for two, there are family engagements that demand my presence."

This made her pause. "What kind of family engagements?"

"One of my family members is of delicate health. Now that the studies are over, I will have to provide for them and help nursing her. So you see—"

At that moment, Elphias came back with a large book, looking surprised to find his seat occupied.

"Oh, Elsie, my apologies. Shall I... go and have a walk?"

"No, it's all right, Elphias," the girl said rather grumpily. "Looks like you have quite a project going on here."

"Oh, so we do," he said enthusiastically. "We're researching Southern countries. Albus and I are leaving for a Grand Tour in a couple of days. I'm trying to persuade him to go and see the colony of Sphinxes in Egypt. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Albus closed his eyes, unable to keep a grimace from his face. There was ominous silence as the girl regarded him coldly.

"A Grand Tour, is it?" she repeated. "Sphinxes in Egypt. And what's that, a map of Greece? So much for your broke status—and your family engagements. You didn't have to lie, Albus. I would have understood a simple _I don't like you_."

With a swish of her robes, she stood up and marched away, her nose in the air. Albus stayed frozen in a cringing pose while his friend covered his mouth with his hands, horrified at what he had done.

"Oh, Albus… I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to… to ruin anything. I… Do you want me to go after her? I'll tell her you were telling the truth. I can vouch for you."

"Please don't." Albus forced his body to relax, passing a tired hand over his eyes. "She won't approach me again, that's for sure. That was awkward, though."

"I'm really sorry. I can honestly—"

"Elphias, let's just forget it, please."

Before the discussion could develop any further, a ghost floated to their side. He had a very wobbly neck enclosed in a frilly collar.

"Young Albus, good evening," he said solemnly.

"Sir Nicholas," Albus returned, glancing up.

The ghost was uncharacteristically sombre. "Headmaster Dippet has asked me to request your presence at his office."

The boys stared at him before gaping at each other.

"Is something wrong?" Albus frowned.

"I believe he has grave news to share with you," the ghost said sympathetically.

And Albus knew. Something had happened to Ariana: she was either hurt or had hurt someone else. What other grave news could there be? With an intake of breath, he looked down at the map and the notes, as if knowing he would have to say goodbye to all travel plans.

"All right," he sighed. "Let's go."

The memory closed on his retreating figure.

Back in the present day, Gellert observed the other wizard cautiously.

"That was when you found out, wasn't it?"

Albus nodded. "My mother was dead. An accident... Ariana still doesn't know how it happened. She suspects on some level, but those fits are strong enough to knock her out."

Gellert nodded as well. "You must have been really looking forward to that trip."

"I was... It seemed unfair when it didn't work out, and I knew it was very selfish of me to feel that way. But if I'd gone, I'd have never met you." Albus smiled, watching Gellert tenderly.

The expression on the latter's face upon this confession was difficult to describe, but he was touched, most deeply so.

"You've always been alone, haven't you? I suspected, of course, but now that I've seen the memories..." Gellert heaved a sigh. While not easy to witness due to all the underlying sadness, they had explained a lot as far as Albus was concerned.

"Well, I can promise you one thing," he resumed, smiling. "You won't be alone any more. It is all in the past."

"Yes," Albus whispered, his eyes alight with happiness, "it's all in the past. Look."

He took out his wand and raised it in the air in a circular motion.

" _Expecto Patronum._ "

A large phoenix made of beams of light erupted from its tip and rose, its wings deployed, flying around the room once before disappearing through the window.

"I always struggled with it, like you've seen," Albus admitted. "But now it comes effortlessly. All I have to do is think of you."

Gellert had watched the luminous bird in fascination.

"It's… most impressive," he breathed.

"You can do it, I'm sure," Albus smiled. "I can teach you."

The blond wizard smiled back. It was all going to be well. Whatever difficulties they had faced were, indeed, in the past. The only task ahead was to locate the Elder Wand. While Gellert had given up on the other Hallows, the Elder Wand was another matter, and Albus was willing to help.

Maybe it was this thought, or maybe it was the unrivalled beauty of the Corporeal Patronus in the form of a phoenix that Albus had produced, but even Gellert felt happy at this instant.

"It's not every day that you find me marvelling at Light magic," he confessed, "but you've achieved it. I do believe you could teach me."

 

**AN:** Well, dear readers, another chapter down, and the merit for delivering Albus's story goes to Tarpeia. He is not an easy wizard to write. From the HP books, we know that for all his wisdom, he became a manipulative hypocrite, but the reasons behind it are largely unknown. What if he had just suffered too much? While many seem to think Albus's home life had been a happy one, Tarpeia and I disagree. If it had been a happy one, there wouldn't have been such a rift between the brothers—and before you say that Gellert was the cause of the rift, then again, it couldn't have been entirely the case. If a bond is strong, nothing destroys it. The bond between the Dumbledore brothers hadn't been strong to begin with.

On a different note, I hope you are enjoying the calm before the storm.


	20. XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness lurking in those eyes, darkness in disguise. Come, be my friend—together, we'll ascend. This is the story of the turbulent journey that was the relationship of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. A kindredship so perfect... that it consumed everything, even the epoch it was born in.

It were the landscapes of Durmstrang that Albus visited in his dreams that night. He was looking for Gellert wherever he found himself transported to: at the edge of the lake near Gretten Bjørn, where his feet would sink into snow drifts while wind howled through the night, as if determined to blow him off course; in the dense crowds of the school dining room illuminated with its globular lights and its wall of diamonds; on the narrow paths leading to the azure lake where daylight faded with his every step. He knew he was coming closer; Gellert was behind the next turn, and Albus would be able to warn him, to protect him. The turn came, yet before his eyes could take in the sight, he woke up, his heart beating more wildly than ever.

As the morning progressed, the memories Gellert had shared with him the previous day whirled in his mind, and he reflected on them, absorbing them ever more deeply. The trust and intimacy of their confessions had created a bond more powerful between them than any vows. And with it came the awareness of certain truths Albus had never perceived before.

There was a reason Gellert's purpose was set on changing the wizarding society for the better. Having lost a father he loved and admired at a young age, which had effectively pushed him into the role of a grown wizard and a caretaker, Gellert had found himself carrying a burden of an immense weight. At fourteen, he had become the head of his family: the person considered responsible for his mother's wellbeing and happiness. The witch's choice to take her own life had by no means been his fault, yet in his mind, he had failed at his most important task, at protecting her. A wound this deep was difficult to heal, and it tormented him to this day: the injustice his father had endured, his untimely passing, Gellert's own powerlessness where people's cruelty and the society's rigid rules were concerned, and his mother's terrifying death.

Albus had often marvelled at the parallels between his and Gellert's fates, but for the first time, he now pondered on their differences. Where disaster had struck the German wizard quickly and brutally, Albus had endured his predicament more slowly, more gradually, and from a younger age. Ariana's affliction had morphed into a daily reality: something that, over the course of time, had lost its sharpness to become a constant presence with nothing more than a dull throb. And even then, he had learned to distance himself from it through his world of books and scholarly pursuits. He loved his sister dearly, yet as heartless as it sounded, he had become accustomed to her plight. And this, perhaps, was the reason he had never felt the same compulsion for a change as Gellert did. Had they not met, would his thoughts ever have wandered towards any reform ideas at all, or would he have remained ingrained in his small, personal ways? Albus thought he knew the answer, and he was beyond grateful that life had decided differently. He was no longer the same Albus he had been at the start of June.

Another difference lay in the fact that Gellert was a natural leader: his charisma seemed to have been _designed_ to lead, and dominance came naturally to him, fuelled by his magical power. Albus, on the other hand, had never enjoyed the part, not even as the Head Boy during his last year at Hogwarts. He felt much more content when focused on the practical and theoretical sides of magic, on research and invention. And this was a difference he was perfectly comfortable with. If absolutely forced into the role of a leader, he would do his duty, but it was by no means something he enjoyed or sought out if given a choice.

And then there was the realisation that Gellert was in an extremely dangerous position, being tormented by his need to bring about a change and learning to embrace his authoritative nature. The more Albus thought about it, the more fearful he became. Olivia's words, which, admittedly, had stirred jealousy in him, could not have been truer.

_"…I saw a different side to him," she had said. "He is one of those rare people who don't leave anyone indifferent. He is either loved or hated, and it is a heavy burden to carry. And so I promised myself to always be there for him and protect him. Except who can do that?"_

Albus had seen the sort of people who surrounded the German wizard first hand, just as he had witnessed the latter's tendency to resort to the Dark methods. There was good in Gellert, and a lot of it, but he was, truly, at a crossroads. The unfortunate events that had culminated with another wizard's accidental death had rendered him desperate, and unconcerned though he tried to appear, his bravado had not fooled Albus, who had watched him collapse in exhaustion. It was not the kind of fatigue that hours of Legilimency would induce either, but mental tiredness. Gellert could no longer stand being on the run and having to look over his shoulder or remain on his own throughout his ordeal. For _alone_ was exactly what he was. He had expressed his sorrow after witnessing Albus's solitude, which had permeated the latter's memories, but the truth was, Albus had never carried such a burden of responsibility—not for one person, let alone for the entire wizarding community—and it made a world of difference. Gellert did carry it, and combined with his anger and trauma, it was destroying him from within.

Was this any state of mind for starting reforms in order to improve the magical community? He was alone and desperate, perhaps yet without clear ideas on approaching the issue, while his closest friend kept heaping reproaches at him. How long would it take before he succumbed to true Darkness? The signs were there, and Albus could not ignore them. All the more so, seeing what kind of wizards his charisma would attract.

Gellert needed help: something that the English wizard _knew_ his pride would make it impossible for him to accept—and this was where _he_ could assist him. Granted, his mindset was rather that of a scholar, but in the end, every leader needed someone loyal by his side. Not someone to compete with—whether they wanted to or not, most people Gellert was about to meet would try to do just that—but someone who could maintain a little distance yet remain present to provide support. Albus would have to be careful and alert; he knew there would be forces that would work tirelessly at trying to separate the two of them. But he was ready, and his decision had been made. He loved Gellert, and true love had no boundaries. 

Sounds of a small commotion tore him from his contemplation, and he looked up across the street, his hair whipping about his face in the breeze. From his spot in the garden, he saw Gellert step out of the house, his pace steady, his face stony. He did not so much as glance back in Madam Bagshot's direction. The witch, Albus saw, might as well have mirrored his grim expression, except there was a twinge of regret in her eyes. She stared after her great-nephew for about half a minute, and then she disappeared back inside her house.

Alarmed, Albus walked through the garden gate to meet Gellert halfway.

They looked at each other, and although conscious that the rest of the street could be watching them, if only from the windows, the English boy could not find it in himself to care. He was not certain what to say. They had to pretend they were bidding each other goodbye: it had been agreed Gellert would wait for him under the Disillusionment Charm until Mrs Potter came over to take Ariana in. After this, the two of them would leave together.

His chest heaving with emotion, Albus reached into his pocket and produced the photograph of the two of them, which Madam Bagshot had taken at their last dinner. She had given it to him the day before.

"Do you have one too?" he whispered.

Gellert glanced at it, his brows furrowed in confusion. It felt as though that dinner had taken place ages ago.

"Dieter packed my copy with the rest of our possessions and took them with him," he replied. "This one is for you."

He sighed then. "Well, I was right in my prediction. This has been the first and last time that Auntie's door opened to me." He was quiet for a little while. "You know what's ironic, Albus? She _knew_ I was on the run from something. She is not stupid, and it doesn't take a genius to understand why I came unannounced, dragging a highly unwilling companion with me. And yet, in the meantime, she managed to delude herself into thinking I was exactly the kind of great-nephew she would have wanted me to be… Only now that she has looked into the circumstances of my missing diploma did she realise a few things and chose to behave as if it had come as a shock, even though she'd suspected all along."

He smiled bitterly. "She even dragged my father into this. Told me what a disappointment to his memory I'd become."

Coming closer, Albus pulled him into a friendly embrace. He did not know why his heart was hammering this frantically.

"She has never been more mistaken."

Gellert embraced him back.

"You know, we have to keep it short. Make it look like a friendly goodbye."

Sure enough, Aberforth had come out onto the veranda to observe them.

With a nod, Albus reluctantly pulled away. A few more hours, and secrecy would no longer be necessary.

"Two o'clock," he whispered. "I'll be outside, waiting for you."

"We will see each other soon," Gellert answered in confirmation.

Prolonging it would have been unbecoming, so the blond wizard withdrew. With what seemed, for once, to be a rather forced smile, he started walking towards the Apparition Point.

For a moment, Albus watched him retreat. When he finally headed for his house, he heard Aberforth utter, "Is he finally gone?" but had no heart to lie. He sped up and strode upstairs to pack his suitcase. If his brother had interpreted his silence as a sign of sadness, it was all the better.

Hours later, he was back in the garden.

On the surface, this cloudy afternoon could have been any other late summer day. Albus watched the serene street, his elbows propped against the handrail. It had been a place of much sorrow and dreariness, but it had also been the scene of the happiest summer in his life—one that he would not forget for as long as he lived. He wished to capture it in his memory exactly as it was: Madam Bagshot's home, which had become sacred to him, the Potters' cottage a few yards away, the small gardens and the animal sheds of the neighbours he had never taken the time to befriend. It was not a goodbye, not truly: he would be coming to visit Ariana as often as possible. But while wizards remained on the lookout for Gellert, they would have to take precautions at all times. And so he absorbed the sight while he still could, breathing in the scents of the village and struggling to keep the inexplicable sense of doom in his chest from engulfing him. He did not understand where it had come from, nor did he want to: not when it was essential to keep his head cool.

A floorboard creaked to his right. His head snapped towards the noise, but he saw nothing.

"Right here," a bodiless voice whispered. "Are you all right, Albus?"

"Yes," Albus whispered back. "And you? Where are you?"

"Behind you," came a soft murmur in his ear.

They had to act as if the English wizard were alone.

"I will not intervene unless absolutely necessary," Gellert promised. "I will give you privacy."

"Can I hold your hand for a moment?"

Albus's words came as plea, and Gellert obliged.

What the English wizard did not know was that he was not alone in feeling as if something were amiss. Invisible to the eye, Gellert was gripping his wand tightly, every fibre in his body tense. He _knew_ the vision he had had earlier in the summer would be taking place that same day. There were always signs before it happened: a bizarre form of déjà-vu. It had only started settling in several hours ago and was not unlike the feeling that had seized him the day he had found his mother dead. The Killing Curse would take a life that very day; only, he did not know how or why. He never knew _how_ , and that was the real tragedy of possessing the Sight. But he also knew better than to fall into the trap of his gift and act as though the future had already happened.

Dieter was a firm believer in the idea that everyone could change their destiny as long as their heart was still beating, and that was the reason Gellert had told Albus none of it. He himself would look out for any strange wizards, and he would stop them long before they could come anywhere near to uttering the incantation for the Killing Curse.

He himself would not utter the lethal words under any circumstances. Nor would Albus, he knew it.

"I believe in you, Albus. If there is anyone who can convince your little brother he has the right to a life for himself, it's you. And this is not a goodbye after all. We will see Ariana again."

Albus nodded with a gentle squeeze on Gellert's hand. Looking carefully, he could see the edges of the Disillusionment Charm, and he could tell where his lover's eyes were.

"I'm all packed," he said. "Let's do it."

"Are you sure you are ready, Albus?"

"I am ready."

He was feeling calmer now. He had thought this through many times, planning every moment. Mrs Potter was scheduled to come at three, so they had a full hour to bring Aberforth round and prepare Ariana.

"Albus," Gellert said, "make sure Ariana is in her room while you speak to Aberforth—use the Silencing Charm, and just in case—"

"I will," Albus nodded, and, drawing a breath, he opened the door to the hall, pausing for a moment to let Gellert in.

He heard the light swishing of the latter's clothes and followed the invisible wizard inside, walking all the way into the kitchen, where he saw both his siblings supervise Quaffy's attempt at a new recipe.

They looked up as he entered, and he smiled at his sister.

"Ari, Mrs Potter mentioned she might be looking in at you today. Why don't you go upstairs and put on your nice mint dress to be all pretty for her when she comes? Ask Quaffy to help do your hair."

"Mrs Potter is coming?" Ariana asked happily.

"Why?" Aberforth inquired, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"She is very fond of Ari." Albus gave the girl a wink. "Go on, darling. You too, Quaffy."

"Do you know how to plait hair, Quaffy?" Ariana asked the elf.

"Quaffy knows," the elfling squeaked. "Like a basket."

"Then let's go, Quaffy—we both will be pretty for Mrs Potter," Ariana decided.

She headed upstairs with the elfling while Aberforth stared at the other wizard.

"What's going on, Albus?" he asked stonily.

Albus closed the kitchen door and applied the Soundproof Charm around them before turning towards his brother, his expression set.

"I am leaving," he announced in a calm yet firm voice. "I will be going shortly. Mr and Mrs Potter will be taking Ariana in; they have been kind enough to offer help, and they promised to treat her as their own child. You will be going to Hogwarts in a few days—the Abbots will take you to King's Cross along with Ada; it's all arranged. I know you are not happy about it, but it's the right decision, and I promise I will make it work."

Aberforth blinked. He had never felt so betrayed in his life. It was difficult to process what he was hearing.

His brother had conspired against him. Without telling him a word.

The first verbal reaction he could even begin to voice was a remarkably childish one.

"I am not going," he insisted. "You can't make me."

"Aberforth, you can't stay alone in this house," Albus said reasonably. "You need to finish your education and pass your exams. Once school is over, we can discuss what happens next. But you should go and see you friends, take your mind off the household. You will be happy there. You deserve to rest and plan your life and see what you want to do afterwards. You don't have to be bound to this house."

"I am not going to be alone," Aberforth said dismissively. "I will be with Ari and—"

He paused; only now had it dawned on him what Albus had done. The full extent of his betrayal. Albus was not speaking in his own words; if anything, those had to be that _bastard's_ words. Aberforth thought about it, his motions deliberately slow.

_I am leaving. I will be going shortly._

Going where? With whom?

Suddenly, there was no need for listening any further. It was all that bastard's doing. Albus has started lying and sneaking out the moment he had met that foreign scum, and it had been getting increasingly worse until the fool had confessed to _loving_ the said scum. And that, only moments after witnessing the way the bastard had nearly broken his brother's wrists without even resorting to magic. The amount of betrayal and repulsion Aberforth was feeling was simply impossible to express in a coherent manner.

"No," the boy breathed, starting to shake. "No, I won't let you—you—you won't get away with it!"

Albus regarded him cautiously. For the first time, he registered that while his brother was shorter and still somewhat lanky, he was also stockily built and physically stronger than himself despite being younger. A diplomatic approach was vital.

"Get away with what? Aberforth, I have not committed any crime," he reasoned. "We have been confined to this house for far too long, all three of us. We need to get out and live, not perpetuate this cycle of secrecy. Ari needs to meet new people and gradually form a new life. You need to do the same."

Aberforth let out something of a hysterical laugh, but it bore a hint of a sob mixed with an animalistic growl.

"You think I don't understand, do you? _He_ put you up to this, do not deny it! You are getting rid of us, aren't you? But of course, who are your _crazy_ little sister and your annoying brother to stand in the way of your grand plans, right?"

And then he lost it completely.

"I HATE YOU!" he yelled. "You are the reason mother died—it is your fault! And you are NOT taking Ari away from me—you are not separating us, Albus. I will not let it happen!"

It was Albus's turn to blink.

"Aberforth…"

"Stay away from me!" his brother shrieked, some childishness now seeping into his voice. Combined with his sheer muscular strength, the sight was frightening. "Stay away from both of us! I won't let you get away with this, Albus—I won't!"

Against his better judgment, Albus took a step forward. What he had just heard felt like the lash of a whip, and it had come completely out of nowhere.

"Aberforth," he uttered, "I'm a human, just like you. I never meant to hurt any—"

But Aberforth no longer listened. His face was marred with rage and hurt.

What happened next, Albus could not have imagined in his most chilling nightmares. In a heartbeat, it was as if two iron hands had enclosed around his throat, choking him.

His shock lasted for a few seconds, for the sensation was so intense, so painful and so terrifying that he found himself fighting for his life with all he had in him, struggling to pull in a breath, to remove the invisible hands from his throat. None of it did any good. His vision was blackening, blood seemed to be pounding in his head, his heart felt as though it were bursting in his chest, and he had no force to fight any more. He was _dying_ , his mind becoming a blur of disconnected images and slipping out of all control.

Then suddenly, there was an impact as his body hit the ground. Yet he was not dead, for everything hurt, even though the icy grip was gone from his throat. He rolled onto his side and retched, inhaling so quickly and so many times that he felt lightheaded again. But the stars before his eyes were slowly fading; his vision was coming back. And that was when he heard the screams. They were not his own, as it had seemed at first. His head rose, his eyes searching for the source of the bloodcurdling yells of agony.

It was Aberforth, rolling on the ground, his body tense and contorted. And over him, no longer invisible and with his wand drawn, towered Gellert, looking as Albus had never seen him. His cold rage was frightening to behold. Instinctively, Albus knew what was going on without having heard the incantation: _Crucio_.

"Gellert," he breathed, attempting to rise. "Gellert, please..."

Seconds dragged on, and Aberforth's screams rose ever higher. Just when it seemed the German wizard was not going to stop, his wand hand dropped, his breathing heavy.

Albus's little brother was left to sob on the floor like the underage boy he was. Gellert looked on in utter disgust. Then, as if pulling himself together, he addressed Albus.

"Are you all right, Albus? Can you speak?"

"I'm all right," the other wizard whispered, and then, with a little cough, he repeated more loudly, "I'm all right."

Gellert approached to help him up, and Albus clutched at him until he found himself standing upright again. He glanced at this brother, who was also recovering from the Curse.

"Aberforth..."

Gellert, however, opted for an entirely different tone.

"Get up," he hissed. "Or do you need help?"

Aberforth—indeed—needed help.

Gellert was _accomplished_ at using the said Curse, Albus realised, for Aberforth was trembling something terrible already after a mere taste of it. Usually, as Albus knew from literature, it would take a Dark wizard several rounds to put the victim in such a state. What was worse, Gellert looked far from done.

Impatient with Aberforth's weak attempts to move, he flicked his wand again, and Albus's little brother was hoisted against the wall like a puppet.

"What you tried to do has no justification; and trust me, if it _weren’t_ for your brother, you would find yourself regretting being born right now," Gellert said, coming closer to the younger Dumbledore, his wand still raised. "Now, I don't care what your problem is—if it is your mother's doing or something else—I really don't. But you crossed the line when you tried to kill Albus. So, you will now do as we say, and I might let you live. Understood?"

Aberforth had tears in his eyes. Being pinned to the wall after enduring excruciating pain rendered him so unlike himself that it was difficult to know if he had truly heard Gellert. He just kept hanging from the wall, whimpering and sobbing without respite.

Albus stepped forward, shaken to the core yet with an odd sense of determination. Rationality was settling back, and so was tension. He put a hand on Gellert's arm.

"Gellert, he's just a child. Leave him alone, please." He turned the blond wizard's face towards him, trying to reach him. "We have to go, right away. If someone comes and checks your wand... We have to leave."

Gellert looked at him, incredulous at first, but after seeing the look in Albus's eyes, he lowered his wand for the second time, and Aberforth collapsed, no longer held by magic.

"All right, Albus. He is your brother; I trust you." His tone was wary, laced with doubt.

"A-Albus," Aberforth croaked, "d-d-don't go, h-h-he's lying… all… a lie… Albus..."

"Be quiet," Albus ordered, panic rising inside him.

If someone got wind of Gellert having used an Unforgivable Curse, he would be arrested for certain. His brother was recovering—the Curse, while of a terrifying power, had not inflicted lasting damage. Albus felt beyond grateful for this. He gripped Gellert's hand.

"We have to go before someone comes. Quickly."

"No, Albus, we can't," Gellert said soberly. "We can't leave your brother like this. He will go and tell everybody."

"What _can_ we do?" Albus whispered, his eyes feverish. He could sense Gellert was right, but what had happened could not be undone. The only solution his overwrought mind could even begin to conjure made his voice catch in his throat. "You aren't thinking... the Memory Charm?"

But Gellert had no time to answer. Just as the door to the kitchen slid open—Ariana had come down—he whipped about, his posture alert. While they had spoken, Aberforth, half-kneeling on the floor, had reached for his wand and had pointed it at the blond wizard, his gaze alight with hateful determination.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Albus did not know how he thought to act. As if in slow motion, he saw green light ignite the tip of Aberforth's wand, and his own hand moved at the same time, out of his control. It was as though he had become but a part of one purpose, his body and mind and magic focused on one thought: _keep Gellert safe_. He conjured a beam of silver light just in time before the emerald fire lit the entire kitchen, nearly blinding him and causing the walls to quake from the force of the deadly spell. He never even heard his sister's high-pitched cry of fear.

Everything was happening in split seconds, but he had felt Gellert's spell join his own. The silver beams of light seemed to collide in the air, deflecting—or perhaps mixing with—the green flame; it was too swift, too confusing, too dazzling for the human eye to follow. The emerald Curse flashed towards the back of the kitchen but rebounded from someone's spell, or maybe two of those. The next second, Ariana's panicked scream died.

What came next was Aberforth's own horrified yell.

"ARI!"

Dropping his wand, he ran towards the girl, falling to his knees and grasping her, refusing to let go.

Next to him, Gellert was paler than Albus had ever seen him.

_The vision had come true._

Albus seemed to have been transfigured into a pillar. The sheer shock made it impossible for him to move; his wand had fallen out of his limp hand. _This could not be. It could not be. Please._ But he knew; every torturous second told him it was true. And as scorching tears rolled down his cheeks, he looked up at Gellert, his eyes wide.

"Go!" he whispered. "They'll be coming—they mustn't find you. Go, save yourself."

_Go._

The word stirred something.

Gellert forced himself to look away from the horrifying realisation of his vision. Despite everything, his eyes sought out Albus's. And he knew Albus was right. The younger Dumbledore brother no longer mattered. It had happened.

The depths of Gellert's mind brought out his deepest fears: those he had almost expressed out loud when confessing to Albus what he had considered doing to the Potters.

_One day, he would become what he feared most he would. And then Albus would hate him._

He tried to call Albus's name, but his voice failed him. The house around them was crackling with magic, on the verge of explosion, and Gellert complied. Almost instinctively, he cast the Disillusionment Charm and walked out, unable to say even a word.

The sound of the closing door, that snapping noise that sealed the loss of everything Albus loved, did it. He let out a scream, and everything around him exploded in a cascade of magic. He collapsed amid the debris, dead to his own mind.

It was Euphrosyne Potter who found them. Whether this occurred minutes or an eternity later was impossible to tell. There were voices, a blur of them, and arms reaching for the two brothers, who, miraculously, had sustained no injury. There were faces all around, and goblets being forced into their hands, full of hot drinks or potions, both of which they refused to drink. Numbly, Albus drifted through half-consciousness, not caring what was going on yet feeling his magic coiled inside him, ready to explode once more at the slightest touch.

No one asked them questions. Aware of Ariana's condition, which received Madam Bagshot's testimony, the villagers ascribed her death and the explosion in the house to a fatal outburst of the Obscurus. Their condolences aside, maybe more than one among them was relieved that the tragedy had transpired away from their families or from the generally popular Potters, who had taken it upon themselves to organise the funeral. While this was being handled, the Abbotts volunteered to keep the boys company through the night. It had taken two men to make Aberforth release his sister's body: the only image that had stayed ingrained in Albus's memory from that evening.

The funeral took place the following day. The earth closed on the carved white coffin, hiding it from sight. A few spells, precise and efficient, as though practised for thousands of times, levelled the ground, and then the tombstone appeared, bearing the words:

_Ariana Dumbledore_

_1885-1899_

_Beloved Daughter, Cherished Sister_

Albus stared at the patch of black earth topped with the grey stone. It was as though the pits of the deepest abyss had swallowed his sister's body. He was hardly aware of the funeral undertaker's last words. He had not even heard the words coming out of his own mouth when he had been requested to give a eulogy. What had he said? There were no words to express anything in life.

Not his sister's essence when she had been alive, not the joy she had somehow been able to find in the poor semblance of life they had given her, and not any part of the pain that was devouring him inside out and tearing his soul apart.

When he stared at the spot where the earth had just sealed itself, he wished it had been him inside the coffin. He was hardly a loss to the world. He had not done his duty to his sister, and he was the reason Gellert was now in an even more desperate situation than before. If his position had not been as dire before that fateful confrontation and hope had existed for him to clear his name, it was not likely to be the case now. All Albus had ever wanted was to keep him safe, to protect him, to make him happy: all that Gellert lacked and needed.

There was movement around. Voices floated about him, calling his name; people touched his shoulder; compassionate expressions multiplied before his eyes.

None of it seemed to reach him. Numbly, he stood on as the crowd dispersed. Ada and Dorothy were walking away with last glances at him, not whispering for once. Their families muttered something about letting them know if ever he needed help.

A hand clad in black lace fluttered to his arm, and his bemused eyes registered Bathilda Bagshot holding a rather damp handkerchief.

"My boy," she spoke, more softly so than he had ever heard her speak, "my dear boy. I'm so sorry for your loss. My door is always open; do not hesitate if there is any way I can help you." She patted his shoulder with an uncharacteristic sniff. "She was the sweetest angel, bless her little soul. Her memory will never be gone. I'm sure she knew how much you loved her, and she could not have wished for more caring brothers."

"Oh, yes, Albus loved her. Loved her so much that he wanted to get rid of her like his _friend_ suggested," Aberforth cut in.

Bathilda's mere presence seemed to bring up the worst in the younger brother's grief… and his grief was expressed in anger.

Albus looked at him, but his lips did not move. He had nothing to say. Not when even every _thought_ felt like razors on a wound. Madam Bagshot turned a beady eye on the other young man, some of her usual scandalised tone seeping back into her voice.

"Now, now, Aberforth dear, you mustn't say such things," she admonished. "Your dear sister's death was an unfortunate accident. It is most unfair to hold accusations against your brother."

Aberforth no longer listened. That woman was a pest, and he hated her, hated everything about her. Most of all, he hated her because of what she had brought on them: that accursed relative of hers, another pest.

And yet it was Albus, _Albus_ , who had invited him in. It was Albus who had orchestrated everything—every little thing that had led to this day.

"I told you!" Aberforth yelled accusingly. "I told you to stop it! It is your fault! You killed Ari!"

He dived at his brother, so overcome with pain that he no longer needed a wand. His fist connected with Albus's nose, and there was a nasty crack. Yet even so, his brother did not even _try_ to fight back. Aberforth kicked again and again and again, yelling incoherently in between. He _wanted_ Albus to fight; he did not want him to just lie on the ground and take it.

The pain was overwhelming. Images of Albus constantly dismissing him, sneaking out, lying to him, bringing that bastard into their house, worshipping him—all of this played out in his mind, and he just kicked and kicked and kicked. His own vision was blurry with tears; his fists—he realised—were covered in blood.

At last, someone's strong hands were pulling him away—away from Albus, who was so _pathetic_ that it would constantly bring out the worst in Aberforth until there was nothing left but exhaustion. He found himself in someone's arms: those of Silas Potter, whose hold was restraining yet also consoling.

And this broke Aberforth completely. More than anything else, he missed their father. He was tired. He had tried to protect them all; he had tried to hold them together. He had seen their mother suffer, and he had seen that it was Albus who had made her suffer with his selfishness and his inability to care.

For years, they had suffered due to this trait of Albus's, and yet, Aberforth had accepted it. He would _protect_ Albus every time mother had complained, taking over all the chores, admitting that maybe Albus just was like that: able to care only for himself and his studies and his books.

And yet, his brother had betrayed him again by showing that, yes, he _could_ care—only, he had _chosen_ to care about the Dark wizard who had appeared at their doorstep, and not his family, never that. And at this point, Aberforth had found he just _could not_ forgive him any more.

So instead, he had tried to protect Ariana, and he had tried so hard. Only for Albus to go behind his back and orchestrate an entire plan to separate them, all in complete secrecy. He had even considered applying a _Memory Charm_ to his own brother after watching him being tortured. And now, after all of this, Ariana was dead, and he was exhausted.

Aberforth was not sure how much he told Silas Potter between sobs, but for once, it felt like being consoled by a _father_ : someone he had not had for years and whom he needed so badly. At some point, he simply hid his face in the wizard's chest, not caring to see how much damage he had inflicted. He just cried.

At the other side of the graveyard, Mrs Potter and Madam Bagshot had converged on his brother, pulling him to sitting position. Albus could hardly breathe for the blood and for one particularly hard kick he had received in the stomach. He could taste blood in his mouth. His face felt huge and red and swollen, and if he had seen himself in the mirror, perhaps he would have felt dull curiosity as to what had happened to the boy in question. There was pain too, but not enough. Not anywhere near enough.

"Oh, Albus," Mrs Potter muttered softly, dabbing her handkerchief at his bloody nose while Madam Bagshot surveyed him critically over the witch's shoulder.

"This needs cleaning up," she said, her compassionate voice gaining a somewhat bossy hint in addition to its already scandalised undertone. "There now, Euphrosyne, we ought to clean it carefully and then apply the Healing Charm. Mending the bone takes a second."

"No," Albus said, his mouth thick with blood.

Despite his battered state, his voice appeared to carry enough resolution, for the two women looked astonished.

"Albus, dear," Mrs Potter objected while Bathilda seemed to prep herself for a tirade.

"No," he repeated, and without further ado, he stood up. "Than' you, but... I cam'. I'm sobwy. I... muss go."

He turned his back on them and walked out of the graveyard as quickly as he could, blind to his surroundings, unaware whether anyone stopped to stare or whisper.

Tears were now dribbling out of his eyes, though it was not due to the physical pain. On the contrary, he craved more of it; he wanted to drown in agony, for no torture could be worse than the kind that was eating him alive.

"Albus? Albus! _Albus_!"

He was stopped by Elphias Doge, his faithful companion from Hogwarts. Yet right now, he seemed a stranger to Albus. Even Dieter had become a closer friend to him.

"Albus… Merlin's beard, what happened to your face? What's going on?"

Vaguely, Albus noticed that the boy was still dressed in travelling clothes and holding a bag, not to mention there was something of a tan on his skin. This only made him think of Gellert—stranded far away, frightened, guilty, likely hunted. All because of _him_ , Albus. He could not—he could not take it.

Shaking his head in guise of an apology, Albus blundered on until his house came into view.

There, he could finally collapse, painfully aware of how close Madam Bagshot's house was: the parlour where he had dined with the boys, the bedroom where he had pledged himself to Gellert. It was all gone.

Hours came and went. Dawn and dusk succeeded each other. The house remained silent. Ever since Albus had staggered inside, he had only come out once to return Quaffy to the Potters. He had found the elfling sobbing its heart out in a corner of Ariana's bedroom—a heartbreaking sight. Gently, he had interrogated the creature on what it believed to have witnessed, and it had told him everything, describing the Killing Curse and its deflection in an accurate detail. There was only one thing to do: instruct the elfling to make an Oath so that the truth would stay secret. And once this was done, Albus had taken it to the Potters, who also happened to have taken Aberforth in for a short while. Albus had no objections. With the best apologies he was capable of, he returned their gift. With Ariana gone, Quaffy was too miserable, too traumatised to survive in a sterile house full of dark memories and grief; its best hope was the friendship of another child—that of the Potters' little son, Charlus.

Afterwards, Albus felt the rest of his life force drain out of him. He stayed in the sitting room, his eyes rarely straying from Gellert's painting of the mountains around Durmstrang, which was the only thing that seemed to hold any comfort for him. Thanks to the Indestructible Charm he had applied to it earlier to protect it from Aberforth's retribution, it alone had not been shattered by his discharge of magic. It was fascinating too, the way the icy shades of the picture drew one in in the most warming, inviting way while his own house felt cold, so cold. Had summer ended already? It felt that way, even though, behind the door, he sometimes heard the voices of Ada and Dorothy going back and forth in their care of Aberforth's goats and chickens. They seemed to gossip, not even bothering to whisper, but he neither listened nor cared. He felt as though his soul were drowning in sorrow.

Madam Bagshot came over the first day, a hot meal in her hands. After fussing over him for a moment and encouraging him to eat and rest, her eyes caught sight of Gellert's painting, and she fell silent, her shrewd gaze morphing into an expression of shock and then distaste. Still, she came back the second day with another meal, only to find the first one untouched, and she appeared alarmed at the boy's state. She walked away rather quickly, and Albus relapsed into the whirlpool of blackness that was his mind, aching with every fibre of his being for the wizard he adored and the sister he would never see again.

One day, a different voice reached him. "Albus, I've decided to return to school."

"Go," he replied, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Aberforth opened his mouth and then closed it again. There was something akin to guilt in his chest, but at the same time… Ari was gone, and she was gone because of Albus.

Still, whether it was due to some uncontrollable impulse or something else, it _pained_ him to see his brother in such a state. Even though anger and resentment remained present.

It would appear that Albus _still_ had not learned his lesson. The sight of him staring at that _stupid_ painting all but made the monster inside Aberforth growl again. He could sense it was not their sister Albus was mourning; no, he was worried about that bastard of a Dark wizard, yearning to be with him. Aberforth tore his eyes away.

Then—he was not sure why—he produced the wretched graphite-tipped pen made to look like a miniature wand out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He had intended to snap the bloody thing in half, and seeing Albus in this state had almost made him do it, but it no longer mattered. Wanting nothing more than to get away from his brother, he walked out without so much as bidding Albus goodbye.

To meet him, there was a wizard in a Healer's robe.

 

**Final thoughts:**

Well, dear readers, the tragedy has struck, and it is known what happened next. Gellert will find the Elder Wand independently from Albus and will wreak havoc with it. Albus will, in time, become a teacher and then the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The aim of this story was to write a prequel to the well-known tragedy and explain why Albus still harboured feelings towards Gellert many years later. Someone like him wouldn't love a person who didn't have anything worth loving. Albus was never stupid or weak. As to Gellert, he is a complicated character. He had to have a good side, but in the end, he made all the wrong choices. In case you felt strong "Lord of the Flies" vibes, it is not coincidental. Just like in that novel, the boys in this story failed to organise themselves well, and this resulted in the tragedy. In that sense, I refuse to adopt the stereotypical "villain" view of Gellert; to me, he is rather the product of a highly twisted wizarding society, just like everybody else in this story, and as such, any happy ending was doomed to fail.

This prequel was written together with Tarpeia, and I hope you've all enjoyed the journey.

Thank you for reading. Comments are always welcome.


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